


Scientific Method

by NerdofManyThings



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Bonding, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Dorks in Love, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Plot, Eventual Romance, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Getting to Know Each Other, Humor, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Red Oktoberfest, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Some Plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:28:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25524394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NerdofManyThings/pseuds/NerdofManyThings
Summary: Rating set to teen for language and gore.[What's the plot, you say? Well... In terms of plot, we have none.Heavy and Medic becoming friends that fall in love IS the plot. Starting from day one with the team. Some funny stuff happens along the way, and we (will) get an inside look at canon events such as Meet the Medic.]- POV shifts to show both Heavy and Medic's internal process, as well as others.- Intellectual Heavy.- As canon-compliant as possible. (Of course some liberties had to be taken)- Some backstory headcanons will be lightly referenced.- They/Them Pyro.The Medic has finally arrived and has became acquainted with everyone. While the team has mixed feelings about him, the(not)mad scientist is just glad to finally get back to experimenting. But as they become closer, one oddly kind teammate in particular makes him wonder if science is the only thing he needs to experiment with.He is apprehensive to form a hypothesis about that, and even more so to test that theory.
Relationships: Heavy/Medic (Team Fortress 2), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 61
Kudos: 131





	1. A Dusty Town

**Author's Note:**

> Most improper narration language/narration that sounds like personal comments is intended and purposefully written to take in parts of the character's personality that I am currently narrating. Narrating in the character's tone may replace dialogue, so it's very stylized while inside the minds of each character.
> 
> I use a shitload of commas for aesthetic purposes for the narration in my head. Sorry if they get annoying, I don't do it on purpose I just put them when there's a pause in my brain narration. Plus, endless times "and" and "but" is used at the beginning of sentences.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miss Pauling picks up the first batch of the new guys!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may look like it's from Miss Paulings POV, but it won't be forever. It'll switch off to other characters whenever it's most convenient.

New Mexico. A land of dust, sand, and more dust. Somewhere within all of that sand and dust was a dusty, sandy little town known as Teufort. A small distance away from this town two warring gravel companies had set up their base of operations. Operations that needed fresh blood... and today they were getting it. The new mercenaries hired by Mann Co. were set to arrive today. Miss Pauling, of course, was the one tasked with picking up the few who had arrived in the last few days from the hotel. Thank God she didn't have to pick them all up one by one, right after another, like she would have been doing if she had not had suggested the idea (and agreed to use her own money.)

Picking up the first batch was... Interesting. She knew almost everything about them from their case files, but in person they were so different. There was the familiar sight of a Texan, the chosen engineer, a French man in an expensive suit, the spy, that had already donned a ski mask, a lanky gun-wielding Australian, and an overbearing tone-deaf soldier who brought his own helmet. That helmet was not regulation, but whatever. This team was the bottom of the barrel of the 'best of the best' around, receiving less funding from the administration and not held up to the same standard as the other teams, so unregulated equipment wasn't the biggest of concerns. 

In the letters she sent, Miss Pauling had ordered them to discreetly meet her at the red bread truck before dawn once it pulled up. Instead of them showing up discreetly one at a time, most shown up at once. The dapper spy showed up first, almost out of thin air as soon as Pauling had stepped out and settled against the truck. He had clearly been watching for the truck to arrive. While she was informing him of their task, the Texan sauntered up with a hearty greeting of a slap on the back of the spy. He returned the friendly gesture a death glare as Pauling introduced them to each other, Spy now refusing to shake the short man's hand. "Not one much for handshakes, huh?" He concluded as another hand shoved its way between the two and took the engineer's empty hand.

"Good morning, sir! I am the soldier! I was told there would be bread. Where is the bread?" The rest of the body attached to that hand also shoved its way through and began shaking Engineer's hand vigorously. The spy stumbled back away from those filthy hillbillies as he was shoved by Soldier. He didn't want to catch fleas or something. He quickly settled again, brushing off his suit once a good distance from the two men exchanging pleasantries. Spy pauses, hearing a presence walking up behind the truck. He flips open his butterfly knife and eases around the corner with his back against the truck. By the time he had slid and peeked around the corner the person was within the shadow of the truck, an arm's length away from him. He was a thin and tall man, his face hidden behind sunglasses and a hat.

"Oi, mate. I'm here for the same reason as you. You don't wanna get killed on your first day now, do ya?" The tall man spoke calmly as he rounded the corner and joined the group. Spy straightened back up nonchalantly, watching the man and folding his knife but not putting it away.

"-and this is just a bread _truck._ There's not actually any bread here." Miss Pauling had finished saying to the bunch, much to Soldier's disappointment. She takes notice of the lanky man joining them. "Aaaannnnnd that's everyone! For now." She pauses and addresses them all standing in a row before her. "You are the best of the best that we chose for our team of mercenaries. These people beside you will be your coworkers for the next several years." There is an awkward silence as Pauling blanks on what to say next. "Now let's get going, you will have years to get acquainted with one another. You will fight together, you might die together, and you will work as a team. Team Fortress." She walks around to the back of the truck and opens the doors, motioning for them to get in. The back of the truck was empty except for metal bench seats that had been fashioned onto either wall. The lanky man looked at Spy with an eyebrow raised, seemingly questioning the legitimacy of this operation. Spy responded with a shrug and an emotionless 'I know what you mean' expression as he exhaled his cigarette's smoke. They all hauled in with their suitcases, Miss Pauling closed the doors, got back up front, and started the engine. 

It is a good hour and a half to the base outside of Teufort. The early morning sun rose quickly, beginning the daily scorching of the land. Meeting before sunrise seemed smart at first, to have the cover of darkness, but the sun soon proved her wrong as it peeked over the horizon and blinded her with her own ignorance. Sheesh, she would be seeing spots for the rest of the day. The mercenaries in the back were silent for the most part until the friendly Texan kept trying to make conversation, asking about how they ended up being there. He got short answers, mostly, and a "None of your business" out of Spy. Miss Pauling was internally grateful when she made a turn away from the sun and could finally put down her arm and stop squinting. Also because she wouldn't have to clean up a crime scene and find a new engineer, because they were turning in to the base camp now.

She backed up in to the garage and stepped out of the car. The back had already been opened and the new recruits were stepping out, surveying the surroundings. To Miss Pauling's surprise, the Administrator was there.

"So. These are the new guys?" She said coldly.

"Oh- Yes. Administrator. These are the engineer, soldier, spy, and sniper." She gestured to them each. They each respectfully gave her their attention. "Men, this is the Administrator. Your employer." Miss Pauling told them, to hopefully have them behave properly. 

"Then why are they not in their specifically marked uniforms." It was not a question, it was an order. 

"Yes, right, I hadn't had the time to hand it to them." Miss Pauling answered and grabbed a box from a shelf near the doorway. She handed a red long sleeve collared button-up shirt and a T-shirt to each of the men. Their class's logo was printed on the sleeves of both shirts. "The locker room is down that hall, to the left. It has double doors." She told them matter-of-factly. "Dismissed."

Spy looked at the clothes grimly. He did not plan to change out of his suit but followed the crowd anyhow. 

Once the crowd had disappeared around the corner and out of earshot, the Administrator looked at Miss Pauling. "I knew these guys would be sub-human, but I didn't know they would be... _that._ I hope the next ones _well and make up for_ what that bunch lacks. Professionalism."

Miss Pauling wanted to argue that the Administrator hasn't even got to know them, but she would rather keep her life. "This is less than half of the team. I'm sure the others will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having a hard time getting my brain to work with me here, and I see that as a challenge. So, sorry if this seems kind of like... like didn't know what to write about but forced myself to keep going anyways. Because that's exactly what's going on. And why I lack a plot. :p  
> Like I said, it's a challenge for myself and to hopefully teach me how to write effectively even when I don't have any particular ideas in mind. I just wanna wRiTE!
> 
> Also, screw you, English language. Imma start whatever sentences I want with "but"s and "and"s because. It. Just. Sounds. BETTER that way! You're a horrible amalgamation of 4 different languages to begin with, I can jimble you up however the hell I want for proper brain narration for my readers.


	2. The New Arrivals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miss Pauling picks up the rest of the team. One of our bois is missing- It's not Medic, we know why he's delayed. Well, Miss Pauling does but we aren't supposed to. What will I ramble about in this chapter? Where is our boi™? Well, those might get answered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We continue with the narration focused on Miss Pauling. I hope you don't find my style of narration to be jarring or anything. Same goes for my humor in this. I feel these establishing parts would be particularly dragging and disinteresting without the humor, and the humor wouldn't work without this narrating style.  
> It may change in the future as the 'plot' becomes more heavy/medic oriented, as that will be more interesting and I won't have to inject so much humor.

The rest of the team was _NOT_ making up for the other four.

If anything, they were _worse!_ A big Russian man with a minimal grasp on English, a mouthy Boston kid, a one-eyed Scottish black man smelling of alcohol, and someone that didn't even show up. They were much less professional than the last bunch. The Boston kid never shut up, the Scottsman kept trying to make him shut up with threats that just fueled him further, and the Russian's deathly silence kept them on edge. And, again, one didn't even show up.

Miss Pauling longed for four hours ago when she was at the base, stuck inside being belittled by the Administrator while still trying to give the impression that she was powerful and respectable to the new recruits. Well, no, nevermind. She just liked the silent car ride to the airport. She wished it were longer, especially given what she would have to deal with once at the airport and the ride back to base. 

Maybe she should count her blessings, she had somehow managed to get all of their flights to land within thirty minutes to an hour between each other and it was a miracle none of them were delayed. She had managed to get the Russian on the same flight as mouthy, as well. So that was just three flights to coordinate to the same day around to the same hour. That was good, even though one of the team members was a no-show and she was sure to get chewed out from the Administrator for it. At least the arguing in the back of the truck kept her from hearing her own worried thoughts. Also, upon the returning trip, the sun was now at the horizon again. Because of course it was. The only possible time for the flights to arrive at a reasonably close interval was the late afternoon, and they had spent some time waiting for their would-be pyro to show up before deciding to leave just at sunset.

The plane the pyro was on had landed, Pauling was sure of it, double sure of it even. Yet they never greeted the crew that was standing at the very obvious and out of place bread delivery truck. Miss Pauling would have to deal with that later- Russian muscle man here looked like he was about to punch chatterbox's teeth straight out and into the Scottsman's good eye if they didn't get going soon. Then she would be down two more. Missing only one was better than missing three, she decided. On the way back to base she was blinded by the sun once again, worrying about how she would explain the missing member to the Administrator, the passenger's constant arguing made her want to turn the truck back around and ditch them, and when they weren't arguing, the young man was hitting on her. Well, attempting to, anyway.

At one point her nerves of steel had broke and she told them all to shut up. To her surprise, it worked. There was blissful silence until Mr. NoFilter found the box of shirts Miss Pauling had taken with her in the front seat. Once she explained what they were he took the box and began rummaging through it, pulling out a large shirt and promptly commenting, quote, "Freakin holy fuck big ass shit could fit the truck" and then saying that it must be the Russian man's, carelessly tossing it at him. The man caught the shirt with his hand with a grunt before it could hit his face. 

Miss Pauling was surprised that just the _look_ the Russian gave the boy didn't kill him. She glanced into the rearview mirror and met eyes with the Scottsman. Her shock and apprehensive expectation met with the pitiful gaze of a man with secondhand fear for his life, stuck between a murderous rock and an annoying gremlin. Their faces exchanged mutual concern, wishing each other an early mournful goodbye, waiting for all hell to break loose. A moment passed, a few seconds feeling like a minute each. There was nothing. The blabbermouth kept rambling on about how he would be a rap genius because of his rhyme. The Russian just examined the printing on the shirt in his hand. 

Miss Pauling looked back up to once again meet the Scott's face. They both expressed relief but their faces refused to dismiss the feeling that the tension could snap at any moment. At least the Scott's face wasn't silently screaming 'help me' anymore, but instead was the expression of someone stuck at a friend's house as they get in a fight with their parents. 

The Russian man looked up from the shirt at the boy. "Miss Pauling requested that you have shut up." He said plainly.

"Oh. Yeah. That's right, isn't it?" The young man replied apologetically towards Miss Pauling, ignoring the Russian. 

_What the hell was that?_ Miss Pauling thought to herself. _How did he-_

She almost missed the turn through Teufort. She heard shuffling and curses under breath from the back as she hit the breaks to not flip the truck on the turn. She had also cursed under her breath. She nervously laughs once the truck steadied. "We're about five minutes away."

Finally turning in to the secret entrance at the back of the base, she was relieved that the day was finally over. But, as she was backing in she remembered that she still had to explain the missing mercenary. She also forgot to ask them to change into uniform at the airport. _Here we go again._ She let out a sigh. She sat in the driver seat for a moment, reluctantly turning off the vehicle and unbuckling her seatbelt. The others were already unloaded when she stepped out. She had told them upon their meeting what the Administrator expects of them and how they should act the upmost professional for at least the time the Administrator is there. The professionalism wouldn't be an issue here if it weren't for the young man acting up and making others break their poise. And the Scottish man had manifested a bottle of liquor out of nowhere. 

Despite all this, they were standing in line giving their attention to the nearest spooky woman they saw, as Pauling had told them to. The Administrator inspected them. Having emotionally prepared herself to receive mental lashings from her boss, Miss Pauling made her way to the rest. The Administrator addressed the room by sticking up up her nose at it. "Where is the fourth." She got straight to the point. Demanding, not asking.

Miss Pauling was used to the worst things, the things she least wanted to confront, always being what she had to face head-on. This was one of those times. This was routine but nonetheless dreadful. "Well... At the airport, we had waited about half an hour. And I _did_ make sure that-" A person waltzed into the garage from the hallway. They were in the pyro suit. "- _thAT_ YES, indeed, they were in their gear as soon as they arrived. Since their gear is more than just these shirts. Heh." She looked at the suit and felt eternally grateful for whoever was playing around in the pyro suit or deliberately did this to help her out. The pyro settled in line with the other three. Maybe they _were_ making up for whatever disappointed the Administrator last time. They certainly had grown in favor in Pauling's mind.

The Administrator cocked an eyebrow at them and turned to Miss Pauling. "I have seen everything that I need to. For now. It is unfortunate that one was unable to get a flight for today. It will be quite a long time until I have enough free time to visit this filthy place again. Not that I am eager to do so. You have failed to coordinate everyone properly. But at least you barely managed to pack this parade within the same day." She turned abruptly and began walking out of the garage towards her expensive car. "I have had enough of this dusty hick shack. I have work to do at headquarters."

"Dismissed. The others are in the lounge. Through that door and down the hall to the right. You'll see them." Miss Pauling told the row and began to walk behind the Administrator, also having had enough of people for today. What sounded good right now would be some nice, peaceful, quiet, paperwor- 

"You stay here. These rookies need someone to show them the ropes. Also, the shipment of ammo and supplies will arrive tomorrow. You sign for it. None of these men are qualified yet. And don't you need to pick up one more mercenary tomorrow as well? It's much more efficient for you to remain here. If you were to think about it at all." The Administrator explained coldly, not skipping a step. Miss Pauling stopped in her tracks, defeated inside. "Yes, ma'am." She replied compliantly.

Miss Pauling turned and began walking back begrudgingly. The young man, the scout, had already sprinted into the lounge. Speed _was_ why they selected him. The Scottsman, the demolition expert, casually followed suit. The Russian took his time to grab his luggage and get going. Miss Pauling met up with him on her way in the door. It was awkward walking beside him. He was massive, intimidatingly so, and oddly quiet. Her fears from the car ride still lingered. But she couldn't just stay silent, she was their boss! (kind of) So she had to be interactive and engaging! "So... Heavy weapons guy. I'm sorry about the ride over here- I had no idea the scout would behave in such a way and-"

"Is alright." He said bluntly.

"Really? You sure? Because his behavior was really unprofessional and I'm sorry I couldn't control him myself. You shouldn't have had to deal with him for me."

"Da. Is young. Is stupid. Only listen when young woman say. Used your words to shut him."

Miss Pauling was at a loss for words. "...Well, thank you for not murdering him. I respect your restraint." She replied, amusingly.

The Russian replied with a "Hmph."

Was that a laugh? Miss Pauling was taking it as a laugh despite the man's face having no fluctuation and it giving a tone of finalizing their conversation. 

Walking into the lounge, Miss Pauling surveyed the crowd. They... were all there. Including the pyro suit. All eight that she had picked up today. So that pyro that showed up _was_ the missing pyro. _Where did they come from?_ She hadn't seen or heard anything of them until then. They had just appeared and there they were. Moving on from that, she called for the attention of the others. "Welcome mercenaries, to the base you will defend with your life. Along with that are your teammates- Here is the heavy weapons expert," She gestured to the large man beside her "Our demolition expert, or 'demo' for short, the scout, and the pyro." She motioned towards each of them. Demo drinking, Scout wrestling with the snack machine, and Pyro sitting at a table politely. "New arrivals, this is the spy, the sniper, the engineer, and the soldier." She pointed to each of them sitting around a table playing cards. Each greeted with a nod or rise of a hand when addressed. "Now, can someone show them to the locker rooms and the sleeping quarters so they can change and put up their things?" Miss Pauling concluded their introductions. "Besides Pyro, I guess. Seems they have everything figured out on their own."

Engineer stands up and motions for them to follow. They each pick up their one permitted suitcase and follow, except for Pyro. Miss Pauling sits down at the table next to Pyro and leans back into the chair heavily. She's been sitting in the driver's seat for hours today yet this feels like it is the first time she has sit down today. She looks over at Pyro. "Thanks for showing up when you did back there. You probably saved me my job... Even though you were kind of the reason it was in danger in the first place." She quietly laughed. 

"Mmph mmph mph hum." Pyro replied. 

It didn't sound like a question so Miss Pauling didn't reply. Instead, she kicked back in her chair comfortably. A few moments of peace was all she needed. Despite the people around her, she was able to relax. They did not expect anything of her like other work acquaintances do and she was not demanded to do anything for them at the moment. Everything was handled for today. A few blissful minutes of comfortable silence went by, only the occasional sound of cards being played. 

There were noises from the hallway, signing the return of the new guys and Engineer. They were now in their red team shirts. Miss Pauling set her chair back on four legs and sat up.

"So... Miss Pauling, was it? This everybody? This the team?" Scout asked as he walked in and grabbed a seat at her table.

"No. We still lack one person. The medic. So don't get yourself fatally wounded just yet." She paused, thinking. "The Administrator was talking about this right in front of you, how did you not hear?" She was genuinely curious.

"Oh. Uh, well. You see..." He struggled to come up with an excuse for having daydreampt about Miss Pauling the whole time. "I was just so absorbed into the moment, ya know, like a real professional. I was to stand in attention, I did just that and it was the only thing on my mind." He replied matter-of-factly. 

She raised an eyebrow at him but said no objections. 

"Why's tha medic gonna be 'ere late? He betta hurry hes arse up before I _inflict_ does fatal wounds on Scout." Demoman input.

"We were dealing with legal-" She realized this was disclosed information as she was saying it. _Try to correct it, fast!_ She internally yelled at herself. "-issues with the legal documents for the flight. The legal documents with all that legal mumbo-jumbo having to do with... legal things...like... contracts and stuff with... previous jobs. That we had to work through so he could leave... his last job. To come here. To this one." She had nearly started breaking a sweat trying to cover the details. She wasn't completely making up a lie, but enough so the details are still unknown. She didn't think the team would much appreciate or trust a medic whose practice license was revoked and had just gotten out of a court case. Everyone was looking at her with baffled faces. "...It's been a long day. What matters is once I pick him up tomorrow, we will have everyone and we will be ready for your mission... Well, once the shipment of weapons comes in as well. That's also tomorrow." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This is my first legit fic, and my first on this site. My others are either from middle school, unfinished, or just not good or thought out.  
> Of course, this one isn't thought out either- I'm just making it as I go- but it's different. Idonno how, but I feel it is.


	3. Blood and Trucks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The whole team is assembled at last! There’s breakfast! Heavy does the dishes! Sniper has resting bitch face! The narration now deviates from Miss Pauling’s POV and Heavy meets someone special!   
> Hope you’ve enjoyed the last two chapters! This one is a juicy one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank those of you who found me through my Tumblr, hyperfixonthis, and supported me there!  
> If you find me through here, I suggest you keep up with my Tumblr if you want updates on my progress or som'n. It's a new Tumblr of mine and I repost cute as heck heavymedic and casual TF2 stuff.

There was a knocking on the truck’s doors. Miss Pauling sat up with a startle, her hair disheveled. She had slept in the back of the truck last night. Smoothing her hair the best she could, she opened the door. It was Scout and Pyro. She squinted drearily at them.

“Mornin, Miss!” 

“Mph mmph!” Pyro added. 

Miss Pauling found her glasses in the wad of blankets beside her and put them on.

“Spy’s makin breakfast if ya want some. Although he gets more and more pissed every time another person asks him to make some but it’s his fault for starting breakfast and not expecting anyone to want any. Especially after he agreed to make some extra for Sniper and then tried to refuse some to Soldier and then _ I  _ wanted-” He kept going on about the events that lead up to Spy making everyone breakfast and how Miss Pauling wouldn’t be the straw that broke his back because she’s ‘all polite and lady-like.’ 

This was true, he complained least about cooking for her but was definitely still not happy about it. Miss Pauling felt guilty about eating it because of Spy’s resentment towards serving everyone, but she hadn’t even asked for it herself. She would’ve been fine without breakfast but Scout had walked in and announced to the room that “Miss Pauling is here and ready for grub! Spy, get cookin!” But spy was already cooking. He grumbled and cracked another egg into the pan before Miss Pauling had time to object. 

She took a seat at one of the tables with Heavy and Engineer. Pyro and Scout took a seat with her. The two already seated had looked at her oddly as she sat. She noticed this. “What? My hair? I know.”

Pyro put a hand over one side of their face and pointed at the side of Pauling’s face. She made a confused face at the gesture. 

“Sun burn you.” Heavy told her, handing her a clean butter knife to use as a mirror. 

“OH! That’s- Oh.” She sighed. “Great.” Her face was sunburnt everywhere except for the shape of her hand and arm where she had been shielding her eyes yesterday. Engie chuckled lightly but quickly tried to dampen it. 

“Well _ I _ think you look better like this.” Scout tried to comfort her.

“What?” She shot a look over at him.

Scout, just now registering his own words “That’s not what I meant! I mean, you _ did _ look better before, and uh-  _ THAT’S ALSO NOT WHAT I MEANT _ \- I mean I meant, like, like that you look good like this, too!” He knew that what he said was completely stupid, but he thinks he saved it pretty good in the end.

Miss Pauling was unamused. But it seems everyone else in the room was, because they were looking in her direction. Except Demo, who was laughing hysterically. 

“Aye- I’m not laughin’ at you, lass. It’s just tha lad there-” His laughter picked up again when Scout looked at him. Engie tried hard to hide a smile from cracking across his face, but ultimately failed and had to lean his mouth against his hand to hide it. Heavy didn’t react and continued sitting with his arms crossed. Pauling appreciated it. 

“Shit! Shit shit shit shit-” Spy began frantically scraping at a pan. He had been so distracted by the trainwreck that was Scout’s attempt to flirt that he had burnt something. With that, everyone had gone back to their own thing. Pauling pulled out her notepad and doublechecked her schedule. Everything for yesterday, done. Everything for today… Begins by leaving in an hour. Enough time for breakfast? She forgot that’s a thing people have.

Practically on que Spy placed a plate down in front of her. An omelet dish. There was probably a fancy name for it but Miss Pauling didn’t want to offend the Frenchman who had so graciously made her breakfast by misnaming the food. “Thank, you. Spy.” She said gratefully.

“I used what I had to work with.” He said distastefully. The spiteful demeanor was not aimed at Miss Pauling, but rather the disappointing stock of ingredients. 

The others had already finished theirs by the time hers had been handed to her. She thought others would’ve eaten more, but they were afraid to ask for seconds in fear of their lives. Those fears would be reaffirmed when Spy haphazardly dropped Scout’s plate in front of him.

“Bon appetit.” He said harshly. The dish was the one that had burned.

“Ha! Joke’s on you, Frenchy. I like ‘em singed!” Scout retorted, shoving half of it into his mouth at once. 

“Hmph?” Pyro sat up in attention.

“I hope you also like the flavor of arsenic.” Spy added coldly.

“Oh, what’s that taste like? Whatever it is I’m likin’ it.” Scout asked, chewing the mouth full, genuinely having no idea of Spy's inteded threat.

Spy looked offendedly baffled that this boy was too ignorant to even _ get _ that he was being threatened with poison. If he had really put poison in his food he would’ve been too stupid to even know what he had died from. “Tell me. Are you truly blissful in that ignorance of yours?”

“Yeah, I’d say I’m a pretty blissful dude. Don’t you think, Miss Pauling? I think I’m blissful, I’d even say-”

Pyro had a lighter in hand now. And he was holding it up to the other half of the omelet hanging on Scout’s fork, crouched beside the table.

Scout was silent for a moment, having to process what the hell this masked weirdo was doing. “Uh. That’s… That’s alright, buddy. Pal. Thing. It’s.. burnt enough.”

Pyro slightly lowered his head to look more directly at the flame. After a moment of silence passes the lighter sadly flicks off and Pyro paces back to his chair, sitting down heavily. Pauling had watched Pyro do all of this, thinking of the details of their file. The details provided reasoning for their behavior to her, but the others had no idea why they would behave like this. She thought about this and didn't pay attention to how much she had eaten so far.

“...Say, Miss, you wouldn’t like to.. Say-” Scout began, but was stopped in his tracks.

“Well. I better get going. In case something happens to make me behind on schedule like it usually does.” Miss Pauling had finished her omelet. It was rather small, but any food is better than none. 

“But, uh, hey-” He tried to continue as Pauling stood up. 

Just then Sniper stood up and walked over to Miss Pauling. “Mate, could you possibly drive me back to the hotel on your way over? I left my van there.” His voice was quiet and whispery but was like a roll of thunder in his throat, yet it was his casual indoor voice.

“Miss- Miss Pauling?” Scout tried to continue but was talked over and continued eating while sulking.

“Your van?” She replied.

“Yeah. I drove.”

“But you had a flight. I spent my own money on it.”

“About that. I tried to tell ya, but yer number didn’t go through and I didn’t have any stamps for a letter… Oh, yeah.” He pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to Pauling. It was his plane ticket. “Been meanin’ to get it to ya.”

At least she could refund it, maybe. “Oh… That was my burner phone. That I had to dispose of after I contacted the last of the team. Sorry about that. Yeah, I’ll take you to get your van. Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“So  _ that’s  _ why you walked up from the desert? You were residing in a  _ van _ ?” Spy interjected into the conversation, remembering the bushman walking up from behind the truck that day.

“And  _ you _ were the reason I took my gun along.” He quickly shot back at Spy. Sniper casually turned back to Miss Pauling, laughing lightly. “Well, ya seemed so rearing to get goin. I didn’t know what kinda boss you were yet, if I would get my head bit off or not. And any other time would’ve been a pretty shitty time to say somethin’, don’t ya think?”

Miss Pauling was surprised at his polite nature, given how stand-offish he behaved and the usual scowl he had. “Thank you for not asking me to drive you back out to the middle of the desert yesterday.” He was right, any point would’ve been shitty. Asking that when the Administrator was here? Instant death.  _ Career  _ death. The worst kind of death. Asking when she got back from getting the others? Probably real death. She would’ve probably fell asleep driving. If not going there, then back. “...At any point. Well, that’s the something that would put me behind schedule like I talked about. Let’s get going, Sniper. In case there’s yet another thing.” She waved a hand to motion Sniper to follow. 

Scout had gotten up and put his plate in the sink.

“I cooked it for you. I’m not  _ also _ cleaning up after you all.” It gave Spy the thought to mention that to everyone.

Engineer and Heavy stood up at the same time in volunteer to do the dishes as Pauling turned down the hallway towards the garage. Sniper followed. These guys were beginning to grow on Pauling. Their lack of professionalism was made up for in camaraderie to one another. 

Engineer looked up at Heavy, who was collecting plates. “Well! I didn’t expect help. Thanks, partner. Mighty kind.” Engineer held out his hand.

Heavy didn't say anything and put the stack of plates in Engineer’s hand. Pyro held up his plate to Heavy politely, Heavy took it and went to get the plates from the other tables. After gathering them up he joined Engineer at the sink. 

He didn’t say anything because he was not there to make friends. He was there for one purpose only. The job. There was no importance in making friends with these people, but he also wasn’t about to disrespect the hospitality of being served food. Having helped provide for his family for all his life, he knows the importance of being at least gracious of those who provide you food. Helping with the clean up was his way of saying thanks to the chef.

_ Wait, when did the pyro suit guy eat? I never saw them take off their mask.  _ Heavy wondered to himself as he scrubbed the dishes.

“Not one much to talk, are ya?” Engineer said beside him.

Heavy disliked this talkative man, but liked how he was amiable. Just the talking part was annoying. This man’s slang and accent combined with Heavy not knowing English too well to begin with made his constant friendly attempts to chat all the more miserably misinterpretable.

Heavy responded to him with a grunt.

“Ya know, it’s odd that out of all the fellers here, you, the biggest toughest guy in this room, volunteered to clean up with me. Heh.” He said, without enmity. 

_ Oh no he continues talking. _ Heavy was beginning to like the unsettling muffled pyro suit mystery thing more and more. They were friendly without doing all this talking, even if it was unsettling at the same time.

Heavy looked at Engineer with an eyebrow raised and a frown. “Why odd?”

“Well,” He stopped to think. “...I reckon I never had to think of a way to explain it before. It’s just one of them things, ya know?”

Heavy did not know. Not of these ‘one things’ Engineer talked about. He answered with an abrupt “Hm.” and continued washing the dishes. He did not care what these people had to say about him, anyway. If they caused too much of an issue he could simply crush them, but other than that he wouldn't put effort into them.

Having finished the dishes, Heavy went back and retrieved a book from his room. Well, the defense classes barracks which he resided in with Engineer and Demo. So far whatever mission he’s been hired for has been boring. Except when it’s annoying. Either way, he was glad he had brought some books along or he might have ended up crushing Scout for fun. Heavy sat down on the couch in the lounge beside Demo, who was draped half way off with a bottle in his hand. Heavy didn’t expect him to wake up any time soon. 

Miss Pauling had made it to the airport at a reasonable time, she thought. The detour to drop off Sniper didn’t take too long and was much more bearable than the last drive she had. So she retained some sanity as well. She pulled up and the team doctor was already waiting on the bench outside, though. He told her he had not been waiting long. He had a suitcase, a large satchel, and a covered bird cage with him. Definitely the oddest of things she’d seen out of what the others had brought. Personal melee weapons, helmets, guns, booze, and a van were one thing. But a  _ bird cage?  _ These were also more than he was permitted to bring. But it’s not like she could tell him to leave some behind now.

Miss Pauling went to turn the truck around but before she began moving forward she remembered the sun. It was just almost high enough to be above the visor. Still low enough to be annoying. She must have had a look on her face because the german doctor in the seat beside her said something.

“You... have a little sunburn zhere.” 

“I know.”

Reading a few pages into his book in silence was not what he thought he signed up for, but being paid for it was a plus. _This place is_ _ boring so far.  _ Heavy paused in his book to think to himself. He noted that it was only the second day, but still. Heavy wondered when the battling would begin. He might just join in with Demo and his drunken sleep if it was not soon. After beating up Scout, of course. 

Speaking of Scout, he skidded into the room. “Guys!” He yelled in a whispered tone. “There’s people in a truck here! This is it!” He had become increasingly louder with each word, the excitement overcoming his sense to be stealthy. He sprinted off towards his own barracks room. 

Finally some action. Heavy closed his book and smacked Demo with it. 

Demo responded with a “Huhhh?” and incomprehensible mumbling followed by sliding off the couch the rest of the way. 

_ Nevermind, then. I’ll handle the intruders myself _ . He sat the book down on his way out. Before he could even finish turning around the corner he was met with Soldier having already snapped one of the intruder’s necks. 

“You need to go back to bootcamp, maggot!” He proclaimed at the dead body. 

Scout sprinted by and once again skidded to a stop beside Soldier, baseball bat in hand. “Aw man, you already got him! Not fair.” 

There was the sound of a car door.

“Hmph muhph.” Pyro appeared behind Heavy, actually making him jump a little.

Heavy pushed past Soldier and Scout and kicked the door open, excited for some combat. The door hit something as it flung open and there was a thud behind it. A very satisfying thud.  _ This is going to be fun. _

He charged out of the door into the garage, the others following suit. There were two unmarked hauling trucks. The man that was hit by the door got up off of the ground and went to hit Heavy. Heavy punched him hard enough to skid when he fell to the ground unconscious. 

“Hah. Try and hit me. Dare you.”

Another man stepped out of the second truck.

“Oh! I got em!” Scout called dibs.

“WHAT THE HE-” The man began to say.

Blood splatter. Everywhere. The gunshot was only heard after the splatter had hit them. Scout had froze with his bat raised in anticipation, his face dropping from an arrogant smile to shock as the splatter hit his face. The body fell to the ground at their feet. Beyond its frame outside the garage was Sniper standing with his gun raised.

"Auhg! It got in my mouth! _Brain_ got in my _mouth_!" Scout yelled.

“What the bloody hell went on here while I was gone?” He lowered his gun and walked into the garage, surveying the trucks. There weren’t any more men in them.

The gunshot had summoned Engineer and Spy to the garage. Even Demo had woken up.

“What in tarnation?” Engineer exclaimed when he saw the carnage.

“Mmmph hmm hmph.” Pyro replied, sounding disappointed that they didn’t get to cause some of the carnage. Engineer put a hand on their shoulder to console them.

“AY, LADS! Take a look at this!” Demo had opened the back of the first truck and hopped inside. The rest made their way around. Demo was digging through wooden crates. He made various happy noises, gasping at the loot in the crates. They were printed with the words “Mann Co” and a red stamp of “AMMUNITIONS” under it.

“Well I’ll be…” Engineer stepped in beside Demo and looked over the crates.

Heavy noticed that all the crates said ammunition. That would suggest that the other truck has the weapons themselves. He wasn’t going to lie to himself, he was excited to see what weapons lay in the back of the truck. As he was walking over the sound of another vehicle approaching grew louder.

“Oh hey! It’s Miss Pauling!” Scout announced as the red bread truck turned the corner. Miss Pauling’s face of worry shown through the windshield as she saw the delivery trucks parked in their garage. She pulled up beside them with a slam of her breaks, the dust continuing wafting forward past the truck. The doctor rushed in to the door between the truck’s seats in the back to check on his birds. Pauling stepped out and frantically ran over to the dead bodies. 

“What  _ HAPPENED!?  _ Why are Heavy, Scout, Soldier, and Pyro splattered-” She saw the bodies.

_ “ _ They intruded on our good American soil!” Soldier replied.

Miss Pauling sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, raising her glasses off of her face. Her glasses had left tan lines on her face, too. She straightened herself up. “This is okay. This is fine. You killed the delivery guys. I’ll deal with this. I’ll... Give me a moment to think.”

“O-KAY!” Soldier replied, loudly.

Heavy made his way to the back of the second truck. The doors were locked with a padlock and chain.  _ No problem _ . He thought to himself, grabbing the chain and bracing to rip it off the door. 

The truck’s back doors were sliding open with a creak, the blinding desert light flooding in the darkened chamber.  It was almost like love at first sight. No. It _ was _ love at first sight. At this moment... he knew. That this gun. Was  _ his  _ gun. Even if all he could see was an illustration of it on the box and the word “Minigun” printed above it. That was all he needed to know to fall in love.

The new guy had also stepped out with his birdcage and luggage from the back of the bread truck and joined Miss Pauling.

“Hey, man! How come you get to bring so much? We only got to bring one suitcase of personal items.” Scout complained as he saw Medic carrying all his things.

“Vell, technically zhe only suitcase of personal items I bought is zhis suitcase of clothes. Because  _ zhis _ is a  _ birdcage _ . Also, zhey didn’t specify against pets.” He laughed, holding it up before setting it down gently. “Und  _ zhis  _ is a satchel, an accessory to my outfit. It just _ happens _ to hold my medical tools such as  _ zhis. _ ” He gleefully pulled out a gnarly looking tool, purposefully showing off the freakiest one with implications that he knew how to use it. He didn’t. But he would find use of it in any situation it might prove useful in.

“We didn’t even think we would  _ have _ to specify against pets!” Miss Pauling said, completely taken aback. Medic smiled at her and shrugged. The bewilderment in Pauling’s voice brought the other’s attention to their direction.

Scout looked more uneasily at the large saw handle he spotted sticking out of the bag because he actually  _ knew _ what that one did.

“Don’t vorry. I vill most likely never use zhis one.” He put the gnarly twisted tool back. “I prefer to vork vith my hands, anyvay!” He said, cheerfully holding up his hands and wiggling his fingers.

This was not a comfort to Scout. Nor anyone, apparently. They were all looking at him rather unsettled. Medic didn’t mind, it’s how others usually reacted.

“Okay, then.” Miss Pauling paused to exhale a deep breath. “Now that you all are acquainted with the team medic, I just need to figure out how to deal with these bodies.”

“Ooo! I’ll take zhem! I need to start a new stock of organs here. Zhese are still really fresh! Zhey vill do very nicely!” He was genuinely excited to have fresh new organs on his first day. What a delight!

The others have already developed a fear of this doctor. Spy and Sniper once again shared glances at one another to confirm they just heard the same thing. Demo had mentally made a drinking game about every time this man said something creepy to take a swig. He chugged without looking away, maintaining a constant face of perturb. Engineer had a fake friendly smile hiding his concern.

“Oh- That’s... Alright, then. Have at it. But make sure you dismember them good enough that they aren’t recognizable. And make sure you don’t have any full chunks of body parts that can be identified as body parts. Like a whole leg or something. Cut it up into slices like a carrot.” Miss Pauling instructed him.

Now everyone was giving Pauling the look. Demo had to throw back his head to take a big enough swig.

“Yes, ma’am.” Medic replied. “So zhats how many bodies for me?”

Demo took another swig.

“Three.” She replied. “Two here, one in the hallway.”

“Zhat one’s still alive.” He pointed to the one Heavy had punched.

‘What?”

“Ja, zhe blood is still flowing steadily out of his… face?… crater? His face crater. His heart is still pumping zhat blood.” 

Demo went to take another drink but it was empty.

“Okay. I’ll go take care of that one.” Miss Pauling went and grabbed the body by the arms and began dragging it to one of the trucks. “I showed you guys how to contact me through the information room if you need me. I also wrote instructions down in a notebook hid under desk 3, taped to the bottom, just in case everyone forgets. Don’t press the intel emergency button unless there’s an _intel emergency!_ Medic, if you have any body parts you need to dispose of contact me and I’ll tell you where to bury them or send you means to dissolve them. Dispose of all evidence, even the truck. Dismantle it.” Miss Pauling said in a rush, moving past Heavy. He had unloaded the truck of all the weapon boxes.

Demo left to get another drink.

“Thank you, Heavy” She said when she looked into the empty truck. “Oh yeah! Thanks for the breakfast, Spy. It was fantastic. Unfortunately-” She paused, straining to lift the body into the truck. “-I will return to work after I-  _ Hrrrng- _ deal with this.” Pausing to take a breath, the body hanging out the truck halfway and beginning to slide. “So-”

Heavy noticed how Pauling was struggling to lift the body into the truck and helped her out, easily lifting it in. “-So I will not be returning to enjoy it any time soon. Thanks again, Heavy.” 

He nodded and closed the doors for her, too.

She hopped into the truck and backed out of the garage, leaving the trail of blood leading mysteriously to nowhere, the bodies to the mad doctor, and the mercenaries alone with their new toys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, I hope I can come up with the rest of the story beyond this point because I'll basically have to come up with events happening for our bois to deal with or learn to make chillin and doing nothing in the base interesting.  
> This was a long chapter but fun to write! Enjoy, my nerds. The next update may be a while because I need to think up content for it.


	4. Warmish Welcome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Medic is shown to his base of operations _~~Eh? Get it?~~_ and the mercs open the delivered goodies.  
> With Miss Pauling gone, the mercs are left to their own devices. And those devices happen to be dangerous. But good thing Medic is here!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The text in parenthesis are translated text! (Only used once this chapter)  
> Whenever a character says something lengthy in their native language I will just put it in parenthesis, to save myself and you the misery of google translate.  
> -Oh! Also, paragraphs that start with a dash, like this one, will signify a POV shift for the same scene. I want to give both sides of the scene/show both perspectives and I found the dash to be less disruptive than a double space. Please give your opinion on this method, if you would prefer a double space or have a different way of signifying the POV shifts!  
>  **Bonus:** The accents I place in their dialogue (Like Medic saying 'zhis' or 'vas') aren't present in their inner thoughts or translated text because it's just their English speech that has it.

The dust from Miss Pauling driving away had not yet settled. The mercenaries were left on their own. And from the sounds of it, for quite a while. It was awkward to be left there without a boss. Those of them who had been paid for mercenary work before had worked alone and managed the mission on their own, for those who hadn’t they were not used to working under an absent authority and were uncertain of what they could and couldn’t do. For everyone, though, working as a team was what they would have to get used to.

Medic turned his attention to the body in the bloody puddle. “Is zhe ozher one bleeding?” He asks the general crowd of people.

“Nope. His neck was snapped in the name of freedom! Freedom from living!” Soldier responded loudly and proudly as Demo re-entered, new bottle in hand.

“Ah, zhat’s good. I don’t need to rush to collect his blood zhen. I’m sure I’ll collect enough blood later to make up for zhis loss.” He motioned to the puddle with dust settling on its crimson surface.

Demo stopped in his tracks and took a drink from his new bottle.

“Vhere’s zhe lab? Let’s see vhat equipment I have to vork with!” Medic said, perhaps too enthusiastically. Everyone looked at each other and then their gaze collectively fell on Engineer, who then switched it over to Scout who was not paying attention, trying to scrub the remaining blood off of his face. Scout felt the eyes on him and turned to face the rest of the group, confused. He had been silently chosen to show the creepy doctor to the med bay, and he quickly realized it.

“Aw, crap.” He muttered under his breath. “Uh, dis way, doc.” He said with an annoyed defeated sigh and a wave of his hand. Medic picked up his bird cage and followed Scout through the door, his enthusiasm unwavering even as they stepped over the dead body in the hall. They walked past the lounge. “This here is the chill room where we don’t do nothing. But sometimes eat.” Scout pointed and continued on. “And this room here I haven’t been in yet. Oh, that one neither. Nope not that one yet either. Oh, and that’s the food storage... I think.” He stopped and looked inside. “Nope. Spider closet.” He closed the door quickly. “...Only spiders.” He paused in horror for a moment before picking back up again. “The med bay is like… past the locker room, I think.” Scout explained along the way as they passed doors and turns. There was a fork in the hall, now. “Oh, down that way is the intel room.” The sign above him pointed that the intelligence was the opposite way. 

_ There’s certainly not intelligence  _ **_here_ ** _. _ Medic laughed to himself.  _ Though, his ignorance would make him easy to do tests on. Even if it makes this tour dreadful. _

_ “ _ Oh wait,  _ that _ is the locker room down there. And  _ that _ way is my room right up those stairs. Yeah, I get my own room. I’m that special. The rest of these chumps have to stay in rooms of three. I don’t know where you’ll be staying. Probably in a room with two other people like the other losers. Anyway-”

Medic stopped when they passed an open room with double doors at the end. “Ah, here ve are!” 

“How do  _ you _ know?”

Medic raised his eyebrows and agitatedly pointed at the red cross symbol painted beside the doorway. 

“Oh. Fair point.”

Medic walked in the open doorway and through the waiting room. The waiting room had no seating but included a stack of foldable chairs ready to set up. It also had a ‘take a number’ machine along the wall and Medic felt like he was working in a legitimate clinic again! Scout followed Medic, his curiosity for the lab forgetting his uneasiness of the doctor. The room beyond the double doors was dark through the circular windows. Medic pushed open a door with his side, careful not to jostle the birds. The lab had windows high on the opposite wall which let in more light than the foggy door windows had led on; enough to see some dust particles in the air. The room was still rather dingy, the walls having marks where water had run down them and the tiled floor being scuffed and discolored. 

Medic found the equipment within the lab to be quite disappointing. A wheeled overhead surgery light, a utensil table, an operation table, empty shelves, and a few cabinets lined against the wall was all that occupied the room. “It’s a little barren. I had more equipment vhen I once ran operations out of a shed.” 

Scout looked around for a light switch. Finding one, he flicked it and discovered that it was rigged to the operation light. The shoddy wiring rig sparked and he recoiled his hands away with a jump. “Wait. You did operations in a shed?”

Medic noted the odd craning hook contraption hanging from the ceiling. The room must have been part of a larger cargo loading area before being sectioned off. _Oh!_ _There’s also a drain in the floor. That will probably come in handy._ “Zhat’s not important.” He told Scout dismissively, setting the birdcage on the empty utensil table. He took the sheet off of the cage to reveal several white birds. They were cramped in the cage but were only moderately ruffled thanks to how they were organized within, along with Medic’s careful handling.

“What the heck is with all those birds??” Scout didn’t expect the mass of birds that were inside the cage, stacked on layers of perches.

“Don’t vorry, zhis cage vas just for travel purposes.” The birds cooed and stirred eagerly when they saw their owner once again. He smiled at them. “Sorry for zhe long trip. You von’t be stuffed in zhere like zhat again.” he said as he opened the cage door and the birds spilled into the air. 

Scout was at a loss for words, watching the birds scatter and settle onto the rafters, pipes, and the hook overhead. One bird had landed on Medic’s shirt and crawled its way up to his shoulder. “Ah! Archimedes. Zhere you are.” He reached up and patted the bird, smoothing its feathers down. The bird cooed at him and he responded, saying something in German.

_ Oh man this guy’s crazy _ . Scout thought to himself, watching the little white feathers float down after the birds had gotten settled. The doctor was still responding to his bird in German, prompting Scout to be properly weirded out, his curiosity of the room having been satiated. “...I’m gonna… go away now. I’m sure you can find your way back.” He scooted out of the room without waiting for an answer.

“Yes, yes. Good.” The doctor responded as the doors swung closed, only partially paying attention to Scout. “(Now, Archimedes, I’ll get you food and water soon. There has to be bowls or something around here.)” He finished telling the bird in German. 

Medic looked around in the room, spotting nothing useful on the shelves and finding only first aid supplies in the cabinets. Though, turning around back towards the double doors he had spotted that on the same was another, singular door to the left. The wall on the waiting room outside did connect to the wall of the doors fairly close to them, leaving space for a room on the other side of the waiting room’s wall.

Walking over and opening it, Medic had expected it to be a storage room, and it was. It was rather cramped with more shelves holding a few unmarked boxes, some rolling divider curtains against the wall, a heart monitor, a few IV drip poles in the corner, and a couple of cloth gurneys plus other foldable metal ones. Only one of the metal gurneys had leather restraints attached. Not what he was hoping for, but this was an improvement. It wasn’t exactly the laboratory equipment to do experiments with, but he doesn’t mind having to create his own. Double the experimentation that way! Even if it will take up time to build his own machinery.

Scout re-entered the garage, seeing that Engineer had already begun dismantling the truck and Soldier was ‘helping.’ The others were huddled around the piles of boxes, watching as Heavy sat another ammunitions box into the pile. Demoman was excitedly explaining what something in a tube he was holding would do if mixed with whatever was in the other tube he was holding. He wasn’t exactly explaining it to anyone in particular, but just generally out there for whoever wanted to listen. Pyro seemed to be listening, while also digging through the box Demo had retrieved the canisters from. Heavy set down another, smaller box before returning to retrieve what was left in the back of the truck. No one bothered to help him, but he didn’t mind. He was probably the only one that could lift these things, anyways.

“Hey, big guy. You do know the shipping guys do-” Scout glanced at the trail of blood on the ground. “- _ did _ have one of those rolly cart things back there, so you don’t gotta carry these yourself.”

Heavy ignored the scrawny boy, continuing to carry the boxes by hand. It was faster and easier than loading it on the useless carts for baby men. That half of the room was now stacked with mounds of boxes. Heavy tried to set out boxes in a way they could all be accessed without him having to move them again for his thin teammates, but with limited space he had to stack a few.

“Yo is there anything for me here?” Scout’s voice echoed around inside the nearly empty truck, despite being outside of it with the others. “There’s got to be something. Hand me that crowbar.”

Heavy heard shuffling sounds and cursing from that direction, and then a crashing sound. He walked out of the truck, lugging the final box out. Scout had struggled to open the smaller box with the crowbar and it ended up launching some ways away, and then it had cracked open. He picked it up and fished out what was inside. “Woah! Sweet! A headset!” He put on the headset over his hat.

“What use do those have? It’s not like any of us would be stayin’ behind at base to broadcast to ya.” Sniper pointed out as he inspected a new gun.

“To hear what Miss Pauling has to say better… Whenever she calls us from that room with all the computers, like she said she would do. Plus it looks cool.”

“That’s not- ...Ya know what, I don’t care.” He returned to looking over the gun.

Setting down the final box from the truck, Heavy could finally sit down and open the box he had been waiting for. The minigun and her ammunition. He began searching for a good hold to pry open the box.

Medic returns from the lab, Archimedes perched on his hand. “Anyzing for us?” He asked the crowd, waltzing over to the boxes. He looked over the boxes, lifting Archimedes up to his shoulder. The boxes were actually set out organized according to their contents. Weapons over there, ammunitions beside it, and the few boxes of miscellaneous supplies here. Whoever unloaded these boxes had his regards. Medic scanned over the labels of the miscellaneous boxes, finding one labeled ‘Medical Supplies’ underneath a Provisions box.  _ No problem.  _ He would just open it from the side. He picked up the crowbar from the floor and flipped it around in his hands. 

The movement drew Heavy’s attention. Of _ course _ the supplies the doctor needed were underneath another box. He stopped trying to open his box and hoisted himself up to help his teammate.

Medic crouched and jammed the crowbar into the side of the box as Heavy maneuvered his way through the maze of boxes. The first thing Heavy noticed about the new guy was the bird on his shoulder. He had brought a  _ bird _ to what will be a war zone. And that bird was staring him down intently. Heavy regarded the bird with a raising of his eyebrow at its unblinking gaze. The bird retorted his odd look with a little ‘coo’ as Heavy stepped up to the boxes. He wrapped his hands around the top box and Medic stood up straight to address him.

“Oh, It’s quite alright. Zhere’s no need to do zhat.” He told Heavy politely.

Heavy lifted the box anyways and turned, setting it down on another box. “Is why I am here. For heavy things. Heavy weapons guy.” He made sure the class symbol on his sleeve was visible to re-enforce that he was indeed the heavy weapons guy, in case his English was off.

“Vell, danke schoen, Herr Heavy.” He replied, taking the crowbar out of the side of the crate.

Heavy had no idea what the doctor had just said to him. But whatever it was it wasn’t important, as Medic didn’t try to talk any further and opened his box. Heavy left and sat down next to his box again, noticing Medic’s bird had still been watching him.

“Ah-ha! Finally!” Medic exclaimed, pulling a coiled tube from the crate. “I vas missing one of zhese!” On closer inspection, the rolled tube had hooks on either end. 

“Aye. And what ta devil would  _ that _ thing happen ta be?” Demo asked, exaggerating his uneasiness about it.

A creepy smile crawled across Medic’s face. He was more than happy to explain the function of these wonderful tools. “The transfer of blood! One of zhese ends vould go in zhe donor’s vein, and zhe ozher in zhe receiver.” He brought one of the hooks up to the side of his neck, making a jabbing and hooking motion that would supposedly be used to insert it. He happily held up the other end towards Demo after doing so. Demo put a hand over the side of his neck, comforting his veins that hurt just thinking about it. 

“...I tink I would rather just die, if I’m honest.” Demo finally said after a moment of horror, then took a drink from the bottle in hand.

“I vill keep zhat in mind!” Medic responded cheerfully as he sat the coil to the side.

Demo put down his drink. “ _Wait-_ ”

“Oo! And new gloves! I vas starting to zhink I vould have to vork wizhout any.” Medic laughed as if he doesn’t use gloves anyway. He doesn’t, usually, unless it's dirty fieldwork.

Heavy cracked open the minigun’s box with his bare hands. Inside awaiting him was his precious. He hoisted up the brand new gun, marveling at the metalwork used to craft it. Such a smooth, pristine surface, unbeknown to fingerprints. He almost didn’t want to pick it up, wishing to preserve the untouched surface. But eventually this gun will have to fulfill its purpose and face the harshness of war, becoming scuffed and scratched and maybe even dented. A few fingerprints now were nothing. He could polish them off later. The real matter for now… was what to name her. Maybe after one of his sisters? No. It had to be the perfect name, and deciding might take some time. He brushed that thought off for later. 

The gun had some heft to it. Which was expected from the massive piece of machinery. Heavy set the gun down gently and retrieved another item from the bottom of the box. A cloth with large bullets held in loops around it. _What was this called in English? Like a cross-body scarf. A… Scarf?- No. Just said that. A… shash? Yeah. No, wait. It’s_ _**sash**. Maybe? Yeah, that seems right. A bullet sash! _Heavy put it over his head, settling it across his chest. _Heh. Bullet sash. Like a boy scout of doom. My badges are bullets._ He ran a finger across the golden polished casings draped over his body, their weight oddly soothing. He picked up the gun again, this time standing with it. He could get used to this. He couldn’t wait to see what it was like to fire the custom bullets, the kind draped around him in the sash right now. Gun gets its own custom bullet sash, too. _Gun’s name should be Sash_. Although, the gun is a delicate, but fiercesome, lady. She should be called something that would exhibit that. **...** ** _Sasha_**. The name rang in his mind. The name was perfect. He forgot all connection the name would’ve had to the sash as this name was solely for the gun. It was too divine to relate to a mere bullet holster. He couldn’t help but let goofy a smile stretch across his face as he stood there holding his new gun, Sasha, his brand-new baby. 

Luckily, no one was looking. They were distracted by Soldier, who had gotten both his hands stuck in a pipe segment like a Chinese finger trap. Medic laughed lightly at the spectacle, Scout trying to karate chop the pipe and recoiling in pain, before turning back to his box. His eyes happened to glance over Heavy. Knowing that Heavy must have seen his eyes look over at him, he decided to do the socially polite thing and  _ not _ pretend like he didn’t just look at him… And instead pretend like he _ meant _ to look at Heavy. His eyes met Heavy’s face. 

-Well, everyone  _ was _ distracted. Of course someone turned around. Heavy tried to drop his big stupid smile, but it didn’t work. He was too giddy. Instead he tried to make a different expression, his usual angry grumpy demeanor. But now he just had an angry, stupid smile. He lifted Sasha closer to him in a fighting stance as a threat, or at least for a better chance to withstand this discomfort. The doctor smiled back at him before continuing about his business. The doctor’s bird cooed at him.

-Meeting his face, Medic had immediately noticed the big smile that was across the Heavy’s face. He then fiercened his expression and raised his weapon, as if telling Medic that’s what he’s so happy about and was excited to have fun shooting it. The man’s wide smile was infectious and made a smile crack across Medic’s face, too. He would’ve returned the friendly smile, anyway, if it hadn’t of forcefully crept its way across his face. He casually went back to digging in his box, the smile remaining. 

Archimedes cooed and pecked at the side of Medic’s head. He was used to Archimedes doing this, ignoring it and lifting out one of the two square machines that took up the rest of the box. It was a function monitor or regulator of some sort. Before he could assess what it was supposed to do, the sound of an electric saw rang shrill in the air. He whipped around to see sparks flying from Soldier’s arm pipe, Engineer holding up a handheld electric saw to it. The sound of the saw on metal was deafening in the echo-chamber garage. If anything had cured Medic’s jet-lag... it was that. But it was no problem, because the piercing metal sound was soon replaced with crunching and cracking, dampened with flesh. The sparks were replaced with drops of blood and bone. Engineer was horrified and pulled the saw away, a perfect vertical line of blood splatters along one side of him. Everyone was silent.

“Oh. Was I  _ NOT  _ supposed to try to pull my hand out from the pipe with my other hand? That’s the  _ logical _ thing to do, Sparky!” Soldier yelled at Engineer, one of his arms slipping free now that his fingers were not intertwined. His loose fingers rolled out of the pipe hanging on the other arm. “See? Told ya. It worked! Finger freedom!” The pipe fell off his other arm and with a wet clater. He looked at his bloodied, nubby-fingered hands for a moment. “...Medic?” He looked up at the doctor, Soldier's loose helmet was somewhat comedic rocking on his head.

_ Oo! First vict-  **patient** of the job! _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for this late update! I was moving so that took up a lot of my time these past few days. Well, technically still am moving at the time of this published. Hope this can hold you over, it's only 5 and 1/4 pages long on google docs which happens to be a really fast read.


	5. Un-Settling In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally! The chapter you've been waiting so long for! Sorry for the long wait. 2020 is 2020.  
> Anyways, our team is getting settled, as well as unsettled! The first full day with everyone is coming to a close. What does tomorrow hold?  
> (I am not good at summaries.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter can make up for the long wait! I made it a good, solid, ten pages on google docs to compensate.  
> Also, I toned down the accents like some of you requested. It is easier to write since I only spell out the accents where I think they would stand out most.

Organizing Soldier’s fingers back to their correct hands and correct nubs was more tedious than Medic had anticipated. It also wasn’t fair that he couldn’t try any experiments right now. Lacking exotic animal parts, equipment, _and_ with most of the team hovering over him for the extent of the procedure. He couldn’t try anything funny on the very first operation with everyone looking. He had to maintain some form of trust with them now so he could have the opportunity to do tests later when he has access to more materials.

“Zhere. All fixed.” He said, finishing up wrapping the last of the bandages on Soldier’s hand. Soldier gave Medic a thumbs up, the sole finger that had been spared from the blade.

“I’m mighty sorry.” Engineer apologized to Soldier once again.

“No need for that sissy talk! This just leaves me to perfect my punching!” He curled his bandaged hands into mighty fists.

Medic cleaned Soldier’s blood off of his hands. “I would not do zhat for a few days. You could snap your fingers off again.” Medic advised, though he was secretly hoping Soldier would get injured again once he had things to test on him.

“I will punch if necessary. These fists were hired punching and nothing’s gonna stop them from completing their mission! Destination: The enemy’s face!” Soldier proudly announces to the room. Most of the room pretended they were not listening, to avoid being the subject of proof to Soldier’s fists. 

Medic finished putting up the supplies back into their kit, leaving them only _slightly_ bloodier than before. He was about to walk away to put the kit back into the med bay when he saw Demo pulling the loading/unloading cart out of the truck, nearly avoiding running it over his feet. _Or maybe I should keep this in here for now._ Medic set the kit down on the nearest table. _That stays here, but the new equipment should go to the lab so it can be set up for use. Just in case one of them gets an injury that needs it. Which seemed likely._

“Aye. Here’s this trolly so we can start bringin’ stuff inside. The sun’s startin’ to come around full swing and even in the shade it’s hot as hell. I dunnae wanna be out here in that.” Demo rolled the trolly up beside the boxes and began loading his supply crate on to it. “Besides, somma these chemicals need to stay cool. Let’s not get blown ta bits on our second day.”

“Yeah, that would kinda suck.” Scout responded absent-mindedly, marveling at a short double-barrel gun he had claimed.

The air _was_ becoming increasingly harder to breathe, the ground outside of the garage began radiating back the heat the sun gave it. At least it felt like it to Medic, having come from a cooler region like Germany. He didn’t know if the others, besides Demo, felt as suffocated by the heat as he did. He knew he was going to work in the desert, but knowing it would be hot didn’t lessen the tole the heat had on him.

Demo had the cart partially into the doorway. “Uh. You gonna get this body or what, doc? It’s smack in the middle of the hall.”

“Oh! Yes. I need to get the organs while they’re fresh.” Finally, a reason to go inside. And fresh bodies to harvest from! His first day is going pretty great so far. “Can you scoot back the cart so I can get through?”

Demo tried to pull it, but the front wheels got caught on something. He tried again, only to get the cart more firmly stuck “...Nope.”

“Zhat’s fine.” He said, slightly exasperated but overall still excited about the day. He stepped up and shuffled across the cart, between the boxes and the door. He was careful not to shove the boxes further than needed to squeeze through, but Demo still warned him they might explode if they fall off. As if Medic needed the hint when his face was currently against the box’s warning labels. The squeeze was tighter than he had anticipated and was glad that the other side of the doorframe kept the boxes from falling, because they definitely would have

“You good? Don’ get stuck, now.” Demo spoke up, watching as Medic was trying his best to shuffle through the crack of the door and the boxes. 

Medic took in a breath to flatten himself, actually fearing to get stuck now. He used the arm he had through to brace on the doorframe, and with one good push, heaved himself through. He stumbled off of the cart with the momentum, straightening himself back up with a triumphant bounce. “Ah-hah!” He said with underlying relief. His shirt was twisted around him, his undershirt untucked on one side. “Told you, it’s fine!” He fixed his top while walking over to the body on the floor. This one’s head hadn’t been blown to bits and still had all his blood. Perfect condition! He picked up the body and threw it over his shoulder. Carrying limp bodies wasn’t anything new, he still had the strength for it and the technique memorized. It hadn’t even been long since the last time he had hauled one to harvest from, either. 

“The way’s clear now!” He yelled back at Demo. The cart was shoved forward, the front wheels unhooking on whatever in the doorframe they had backed up in to. He watched the back wheels of the cart make their way in without getting stuck, then turned to take the body to the lab. 

With Demo and his cart out of the way, Heavy could now take Sasha’s ammunition to the battlements room. Hopefully, with the cart, he wouldn’t have to walk back and forth carrying the other’s boxes now. He set Sasha gently back into her box, laying the lid back on to protect her from any mischievous coworkers. The bullets were in smaller, separate cardboard boxes inside a wood crate. Lug the entire thing in one trip, or multiple trips with a few boxes at a time? He chooses to take the whole thing at once.

It was fine at first, like it was when he carried it out of the truck, but as he turned the corner of the door the weight of it began to actualize in his hands. The crate was heavier than Sasha even. Sasha would only hold one of the smaller boxes worth of bullets at a time, so just one of these boxes is about a third of Sasha’s weight. He’s carrying maybe three miniguns worth of weight in bullets, and now he realizes that he probably should have thought more about it. He growls under his breath and sets the box down with a huff. A tiny box of tiny bullets weighing too much for him. _Bah. Will carry it again after catching my breath. Stopping to carry the little boxes now would be stupid._ He took a moment before hoisting up the box again. In the tour Miss Pauling gave yesterday, the original battlements room was upstairs. No way was he about to carry these boxes up the stairs each time there was a delivery. It should be someplace the cart had access, like wherever Demo went with his explosives. 

In fact, Demo was still walking down the hall to the left of the garage door. He turned to the open doorframe along the end of the hall. That must be the new chosen battlements room, graciously close to the garage. Heavy prepared himself and gripped the box again, lifting it with a grunt and slowly making his way down the hall. Heavy made it beside the door before he had to set the box down again. He would have to wait for Demo to move the cart back out, anyways. He heard a thunk and a rattling from the room, accompanied along with an “Aw, shite.” He was about to ask if Demo needed help when he heard hurried footsteps from the hall around the corner. Medic passed by, speed-walking. He had now donned his team attire, a long white lab coat with his class symbol on the sleeves. The front of it already had a light spray of blood. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, his fingertips having yet more fresh blood on them since Soldier’s incident. He passed by without a word, that eerie smile still remaining.

“Demoman. You need help?” Heavy peered into the room, Demo was standing with a box in his arms weighing him backwards.

He struggled for a moment with the box. “Nah, I got it.” He wobbled back into the wall. He grumbled something and shifted his weight, trying to lower the box. He let it slide out of his hands, catching it slightly before it hit the ground to soften the fall. He stabilized himself again and reached to scoot the lower box off of the trolly.

 _He didn’t explode. I guess he does have it._ Heavy went back to waiting, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed. He noticed a trail of fresh blood droplets traced down the hall, now. The doctor’s hands weren’t covered with enough blood to cause a trail like that when he walked by earlier. The trail didn’t concern Heavy much but he decided to follow it, having nothing else to do in the meantime. The drips lead from the garage’s door and around the corner of the hall. He was more curious to where the blood lead deeper into the base, so he rounded the corner. 

Maybe they had an enemy spy in their midst already, the thought crossed his mind. He was more concerned about this mysterious trail of blood, now. There were no drag marks or footsteps, the trail didn’t swerve, just neat droplets. That means there was no struggle if it were of something malicious. He followed the trail into an open doorway. At the end of the room inside were the double doors of the medical bay. _Ah. Of course. He grabbed the other body. But how did he sneak by like that?_ Heavy’s thought was interrupted when a metallic clashing sound echoed from the room. _Maybe there was a spy._

He walked to the door cautiously, listening for other clashes. _Just the one? Not a struggling fight._ He pushed open one of the doors, prepared to see a fight to join. This only left him unprepared for what horror he really would witness. The bright operation light in the room made the rest of it look darker than it really was. In the center of the shadowy room under the spotlight were two tables. One with a body, its arm hanging off over a bucket as blood slowly rolled down its fingers, its wrist slit and abdomen skin neatly peeled open and held by metal clamps. The other table was centered directly under the light, it also being occupied with a body and a figure behind it. The scalpel in Medic’s hand glistened under the florescent lighting as he made a stop to his incision, looking up from the corpse innocently. 

Heavy wasn’t unfamiliar with gore at all, but he was _not_ prepared to see this kind of carnage on his second day here. Blunt force and gun wounds were one thing, but neat and purposefully butchered bodies were another. The blood harvesting method in particular was unsettling. He would take note not to get on the doctor’s bad side, as to not end up like that. He hoped that being Russian didn’t automatically set him on bad terms. He would only have a problem with the German if the feelings of hate would be mutual. So far, though, Medic seemed to not care.

In Heavy’s silence, Medic’s expression changed to annoyance. “...Did he break his fingers back off _already?_ ” He asked, expecting fully well to hear a yes. He had not yet even took out any organs he could put into Soldier!

Heavy shook himself out of his mortified state, averting his eyes from the neatly cut corpses. “...No. Not yet.”

The annoyance faded from Medic’s face and voice. “Oh, good. Because I’m busy at the moment.” He casually repositioned his hand on the corpse to hold the skin taut, focusing back on where he left off with the scalpel. 

Heavy took that as a polite ‘okay, now go’ and listened to it. He closed the door and walked back to the battlements room without a word. Demo stood on the trolly like a scooter and backed it out of the room. He then tried to get it to turn around, struggling back and forth as it only rotated about an inch each time. Heavy found it amusing, so he stood and watched Demo try his best for a little bit. Finally, he decided to chime in. “You could turn cart easy by getting off.”

“I know that! I just don’t wanna.” He laughed, scooting it back and then forward again, tuning it another inch. “It’s just more fun this way.” He continued scooting it back and forth. Heavy shrugged, leaving Demo to do his scooting. 

Having finally shuffled the box of Sasha’s ammo into the battlements room, he returned to his minigun. No one had pried the lid off of her box. That’s good. In fact, most people have left the garage. That was even better. Engineer was still dismantling the truck and Pyro was watching curiously, Demo was just leaving with the cart again. _No one was helping him? Lazy. I hope this team does not behave the same way on the battlefield._ Some of them had reasons to not help, like Engineer, Medic, or Soldier, but the others did not. Heavy sighed, knowing that if he didn’t help then no one would. He couldn’t let Demo be left doing all the work while he sat around playing with guns.

He had ended up moving most of the boxes anyway. Though, at least it wasn’t like he was moving the other’s supplies for them. Most of the boxes were general supplies meant for the whole team, such as food and water. The few boxes that were for specific people were empty, so he left them there. Except for Medic's supplies, his boxes were still sitting there with supplies in them. Almost as if on cue, Medic showed up and began rummaging through his two boxes.

“There’s no jars??” He said while digging around. He looks up from his boxes at Heavy. “Did any of the other crates have any?” 

“Not empty jars.” Heavy assumed he needed empty jars. 

Medic made a frustrated noise, picking up a jar of cotton swabs from the crate and dumbed it out. “This vill have to do.” With a flap of his lab coat, he turned with the jar in hand and strode back to the lab.

Heavy watched the door close behind him. _Did he forget he needed somewhere to keep the organs he takes out?_ He wondered to himself.

Engineer took some of the empty boxes and began piling parts of the truck in them, taking them to where he decided his workshop would be. Pyro had followed him, carrying a few items themselves and explaining something that Heavy couldn’t make out for the muffling of their voice. Engineer seemed to understand, somehow. Though, maybe he was just being polite and nodding along. Heavy had passed by them again on his way to take Sasha inside. Engineer was explaining ideas he had to build, saying machine parts Heavy didn’t know the exact purpose of, but he heard the word ‘teleportation’ in there. Surely he could not fabricate a teleporter from just a few odd car parts, the feat of making a real teleporter impressive as it is.

Having finally moved the rest of the supply crates, that were considerably lighter than his minigun ammo, he could take a seat. The couch was more inviting than ever, and despite the bickering going on around him he still found it relaxing. He had Sasha on his lap, along with a little Mann Co. pamphlet that came with it about the minigun. It says it weighs one hundred fifty kilograms and fires ten thousand rounds per minute, firing two hundred dollar custom tool cartridges. Impressive. He stops reading for a moment to think about it, mentally estimating the math. 

...It would cost four hundred thousand dollars to fire that weapon for twelve seconds. He hoped that money doesn’t come out of his paycheck. Though, with a box of ammo delivered already, maybe it doesn’t. He feels sorry for whoever would end up paying for all his bullets. Well, actually, no he doesn’t. He’s ready to fire this weapon however much he wants and will have fun doing so. For whoever pays for it, it’s their problem for hiring mercenaries and not giving them more strict orders than ‘kill people from B.L.U.’ He rotates the barrel of the minigun in thought, listening to the satisfying clicks that it makes. He could listen to that noise all day. A gun of this magnitude, built specifically for killing, pleasantly and softly clicking away innocent of such intent to maim or threat. Full of bullets with no safety switch, yet its existence away from its violent purpose gave way to a one that was calm and soothing. 

Heavy had not realized but he had shortly dozed off, his jet lag not yet being corrected. It would be late-night in Russia about now, though it was only sometime after noon here. Last night he had also had a difficult time sleeping. For a multitude of reasons, but mainly his sleep schedule and his mistrust in his teammates. He was certain no one slept well because it was their first night being stuffed in here with seven other hired killers they knew nothing about. The three to a bunker situation didn’t help either… Along with the teammate numbers being eight now. The eighth being a spooky doctor who has an enthusiasm for harvesting organs. That thought is not exactly something that helps you sleep at night. Though, Demoman seems to have no problem going to sleep anywhere at any time. His drunkenness is probably helping his jet lag. If he had been living in Scotland previously. Heavy didn’t know much about his team yet, but he knew he would soon enough. Sitting and listening while pretending to be doing something else was basically a hobby outside of his home. To do this he usually pretended to be asleep or reading. 

_Oh wait, I am asleep_. He had the conscious thought. He was in that partially asleep state in which coherent thoughts rapidly flew by and felt like gibberish once awake. He could hear the noises and talking of others in the background. They were but fuzzy murmurs, but whatever they said influenced the trains of thought that sped by. 

He snapped out of it and lifted his head up, blinking. Judging by how ripped from the comforting clutches of sleep he feels, he must have not been asleep long. He looks around to find a clock. He was asleep… _for_ _three hours??_ It barely felt like ten minutes! He must have been in a deeper sleep before getting stuck in the shallows between consciousness and REM sleep. He rubs his face in his hand, trying to shake the tiredness. He was surprised that no one had tried to or accidentally woken him up. He wasn’t sure if he would’ve preferred if they did or not. Wake him to spare him from the misery of waking up now or not to have had this nap. 

He had become a little more alert just in time for Medic to walk into the lounge. He had taken off his lab coat, probably because it would’ve been covered in blood. It was evident from the tan vest and white undershirt he arrived in having light stains where the blood had soaked through here and there. He still looked like a legitimate doctor even without the lab coat due to his formal wear. Though bloodstains didn’t help with his legitimacy, he held a clipboard in his hand which added to the impression.

“The lab is set up now! For the most part.” His voice settled down to almost sound like a normal, bored doctor’s. He knew his enthusiastic voice tends to frighten people, especially people who would soon be on his table. If he’s covered in blood it’s even _more_ difficult to coerce them to the table. Once he earns their trust, _then_ he can show his excitement for science. “Anyvays, I was instructed to do a check up on each of you to make sure you are in the best condition to go killing.” It was true he was told to do this, but this also gives him the opportunity to get a good look at these new test subjects. “Now, who wants to be the first?” A little bit of enthusiasm still made its way through his voice.

The room was silent, shifting to look at each other.

“Oh, don’t be like zhat. I don’t bite. You’ll all have to get a check-up at some point today.”

“Nope, not me. You’ll have to catch me first.” Scout said, setting down his can of soda.

“I’ll pick at random if no one volunteers.” Medic lifted up the papers on the clipboard, waiting for anyone to come forward. “No?” He didn’t look down at the papers, letting them flip out of his fingers. He stopped at random and looked down. _Aaannd.._ . _Of course._

“Scout! Follow me.” He used his casual ‘friendly sounding’ voice to not unsettle Scout further. He took out the paper and placed it on the top of the stack, avoiding eye contact so Scout doesn’t feel threatened.

“Nuh-uh, sawbones. No way you’re poking a load of needles in me.”

Medic’s efforts to be not scary didn’t work. “I won’t have to if you’re up to date on your shots.” He scans over the paper. “It says you are. So, no needles for you.” 

“Well… Then I don’t need to go back into that creepy lab. I can tell you right here, right now, that I am _the_ embodiment of _perfection_.” 

Medic gave him an unamused face. He wasn’t about to humor Scout all day, he had a job to do. “Fine. I’ll still have to get you later, though.” He flipped through the pages again. “Ah. Demoman, come with me.”

Demo was leaned back in his chair, his beanie pulled over his eye. He sat up in surprise at his name being called, his chair squeaked on the floor as it landed back on its front legs. “What?” He asked dizzily. 

“Time for your examination.” Medic used the casual voice again. He turned and waved a hand motioning Demo to follow. 

“Aye.” Demo heaved himself up. “I ain’t scared of a wee check-up.”

The lab was in dismay and cluttered, but it was more of an organized mess to Medic. Everything was up in working order and where he could find it, it just wasn’t neatly ordered yet. It doesn’t help that he had been digging stuff out of the closet space looking for more jars or coolers. The birds in the room was what Demo noticed first. He expected one, maybe two birds, after he remembered that Medic had brought a birdcage. And not for them to be loose. There were maybe a dozen perched around on the mess. 

“...These your birds?” He asked as Medic measured his height.

“Yes, who else’s vould they be?” He wrote on his clipboard. “Now, step on the scale.”

“Oof. Now promise, ya won’t make any jokes? Think I mighta gained a few since last. Heheh.” He stepped up onto the scale.

“I don’t have a personal opinion on it, I’m just here to write it down. Besides, that vould just be mean.” He wrote something down on his clipboard again and walked away to the table.

Demo hopped up onto the table, which Medic had cleared just before bringing him in there. Medic reached for his tool bag. The one that had all the scary tools, Demo recalled nervously. He was scared of this check up now, just a wee bit. Medic pulled a stethoscope from the bag and Demo had a mental sigh of relief. It wasn’t a sharp thing.

Medic pressed the scope to Demo’s chest, listening. “Take a deep breath.”

Demo inhaled. After listening, Medic set the stethoscope to the side. Everything was good there, as he assumed. “Can you sit up straight?”

Demo sat up from slouching. He didn’t realize how tipsy he was until then. He swayed a little and hoped Medic wasn’t checking balance or something because he would fail.

“Turn towards me. I’m checking your spine.” He said, answering Demo’s internal query. Demo rotated and Medic lifted the back of his shirt. “And slouch again?”

Demo relaxed and slouched again.

“Spine’s good.” He dropped his shirt and wrote something down on the clipboard. Medic mentally took note that from what he saw, Demo had no scars from previous surgeries. Specifically on his sides, where undocumented surgeries are done to take kidneys. A pristine test subject so far. “You have any weird bumps, rashes, or other concerns?”

“Ay. Spine’s good. That’s good. Sometimes after a rough night of Scrumpy it doesn’t feel like it, though.” He laughed. “But nah, I’m good.”

“I see you are missing an eye?”

“Aye.”

‘Yes, that’s what I asked about.”

“What?”

“Your eye. That’s what I’m talking about.”

“I didn’t say eye, I said aye.”

“...Your eye socket. Any troubles with it?” Medic started over.

“My only problem with it is that I don’t got me eye in there.” He flipped up his eye patch, revealing the hollow space. It didn’t look infected or dirty or anything, which is what Medic was wondering about. “Alright.” Medic carried on with the procedure and put on his new team-colored gloves. “Now say ‘ah.’”

Demo complied.

Medic peered into Demo’s mouth. Throat good, teeth good, though he looked a little dehydrated. He flips Demo’s lips to get a look at his gums. Those were fine, too. He wipes his hands off on Demo’s own shirt and once again writes on the clipboard. All the alcohol he drinks probably keeps his mouth desolate of any bacteria. 

“You drink a lot of alcohol, yes?” He didn’t have to ask to know it. From his arrival he’s seen Demo drinking nonstop, and having just been up in his face it was impossible not to smell the alcohol on his breath.

“Yep.”

“...So. How would you like anozher liver?”

“What? Another liver?... But the one I got’s treating me so well.” Demo sounded genuinely sad about the thought of betraying his loyal liver.

“Oh, don’t worry! I wouldn’t replace it with a different one. I vould give you a second.”

Demo gave it a thought for a moment. “Hm. Maybe later if my liver decides to start acting up. But for right now, I would feel bad about getting a second liver when this one is doing so well.”

“Understandable. But, if you ever change your mind and want to have a backup liver, you know who to come to. I have two fresh livers looking for a good home.”

“I’ll keep it in mind… But my body’s probably not the best of home for ‘em.”

“Vell, Demo. You are good to go.” Medic turned and grabbed a small cardboard box. He held the box in front of Demo. It was full of lollipops. “And here’s your revard. Remember to come back any time for another inspection, or another organ, and you can get another one of these.” Maybe these as an incentive would make the team want to come in for menial things, giving him more chances to experiment.

“Ooo!” Demo took a blue one and hopped off the table.

“Send in Spy next. Oh, one thing, you’re a little dehydrated. So, I recommend drinking some more-”

“Sure thing!” He sprinted to the door. “Guys, you hear that? A round of beer, on me! Doctor’s orders!”

“-water.” Medic finished saying to the flapping doors. He should have started by recommending less alcohol, and _then_ saying more water.

Spy was smoking _as_ Medic was listening to his lungs. Medic asked if he wanted new lungs, trying to get use out of the new organs he has in stock. Spy denied it, but Medic knew Spy would realize he needs them when he is later winded on the battlefield. Spies have to do a lot of moving and that’s kind of hard with bad lungs. He also refused a lollipop.

Next was Soldier. He had not broken his fingers back off yet, surprisingly.

“According to your record… You’ve had to have rabies shots?”

“Yes.”

“And… You’re still on them.”

“Yes.”

“You have rabies currently?”

“Yes.”

“...See me Wednesday for your next rabies treatment.”

“You’ll have to hunt me down for it! I’m like a feral beast! You can’t tame me with injections! What’s even in them anyways!? _More_ rabies?? They’re not called rabies shots for nothing!”

Medic had to take a moment to process that. “...I’m pretty sure that’s why you need them in the first place. I will hunt you down if necessary.”

“I’d like to see you try.” Soldier took a red lollipop.

After Soldier, Engineer left like a blessing. Compliant and reasonable. He revealed that he had a robotic prosthetic hand that he installed himself. Medic didn’t worry too much about Engineer having any issues, he seems to be able to handle and take care of himself. They talked about the fascinating science behind his prosthetic functioning as a real hand. Another science nerd was great, even if he was more of a technical nerd than one for biology. Engineer took a purple lollipop.

Sniper had emerged from his van to join Demo with the free beer. Medic looked over his file and discovered that he was behind on any shots aside from childhood ones. At least Sniper sat there and behaved taking his shots and didn’t tell Medic to hunt him down. He was also curious about Medic’s doves. Sniper took an orange lollipop.

Pyro was nowhere to be seen. The team never saw them anywhere until the next day. Medic just scanned the file and assumed it was all correct and up to date. The asbestos-filled, fire-retardant suit, though… Might cause health issues. Medic didn’t particularly want to be exposed to the asbestos, so he let Pyro be. Wherever they were.

And now it was time for Scout. Medic had asked Heavy to catch the speed demon. Which was easy, because Scout thought Heavy was sleeping again and he caught him by surprise, carrying him to the lab squirming. Though, once he spotted the box of lollipops he willingly hopped onto the table for the agreement of two. He then discovered it wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. He wasn’t poked with any needles, his organs weren’t harvested, and he didn’t have any teeth pulled out against his will. Even if he needed it. Though his file didn’t say, Medic was certain Scout had some kind of attention disorder. He received two lollipops, a red and a green.

Heavy was last. He was certainly the most patient for it, as well as helping round up a few of the others. Medic was worn out by this time, too, and thanked Heavy for being waiting patiently and helping out. Medic was slightly worried that Heavy would have resentment towards him because he was German, but he doesn’t seem to. From his voluntary help in the garage and agreeing to help catch their teammates for him, he seemed to just be generally grumpy to everyone as the default.

“Is no problem, doktor.” He says in return to the thanks. It really was no problem, he didn’t mind helping catch the little baby men that were scared of little doctor visit. Something to do and wake him up. Heavy was not as tired as Medic from having a rest, so he would’ve felt bad if he hadn’t helped and contributed to the doctor’s exhaustion.

“Wednesday you might need to help me catch and restrain Soldier. He needs his rabies shots.” Medic adds.

“Rabies?”

“Oh, yeah. If anyone gets bit by Soldier, they’ll need rabies shots, too.” Medic took a note on his clipboard. “So… Don’t let anyone get bit, and bring them to me immediately if they do.”

“Hm.” Heavy hummed in return, thinking. “Give rabies shots now, if bitten later.”

“Zhat’s not a bad idea. I should do that… But then Scout will be a real issue. Because needles. Also, the rabies vaccines are different from shots so I’ll have to order new ones and wait for them to deliver first.”

“Little baby man needs rabies shot most.”

“He does. Soldier’s going to bite him soon, I can feel it.”

There was a silence, as if they were both expecting to hear a scream and Scout to burst through the doors. Luckily, there was no such occurrence.

Medic sighed, pulling his gloves tighter. “I cannot wait for this day to be over.” He nonchalantly stuck his fingers in Heavy’s mouth, pulling at the edges of his mouth to get a good look at his gums. “In my biological time right now it’s about sunrise and I’ve been up all night dealing with patients.” 

Heavy gave Medic an offended look while he dug around in his mouth. He just hopped right in there, hands on his face and in his mouth. It was so routine for Medic that he had forgotten to give a warning such as ‘say ah.’ He didn’t notice the look Heavy shot him, focused on completing this so he could finally rest. He pulled his hands back, having looked at what he needed to check, and took off his gloves. He turned to the clipboard on the counter and wrote something on it.

“You really have no sense of personal space. Do you.”

“Hm?” He turned back to Heavy, box of lollipops in hand.

Heavy wiped his mouth with his arm.

“Ah, vell, it is my profession to get up in people’s business to see what’s wrong and fix it." Medic shrugs. "After a little bit you adjust to forget about personal boundaries during work and learn to ignore awkwardness. Ozherwise, your job will be an unbearable nightmare of awkwardness.” He chuckles, remembering the awkward cases of his early doctor days. “I’ve had to do a multitude of things worse than get a look at gums. But zhat's a story for another time. You are free to go."

Heavy guessed it made sense from that point of view, but he still would’ve liked a heads up. He didn’t say anything and took a green lollipop. He wanted the taste of rubber glove out of his mouth. He walks out of the doors, leaving Medic alone in the lab. Well, he wasn’t entirely alone, his doves were there. Archimedes slept with his head curled on his back, poofed up in an orange beam on late-day sunshine. He was already enjoying the surplus of warm sunlight here.

Medic took the papers from the clipboard and organized them back to their individual folders. The case files Miss Pauling gave him had a bunch of marked out, redacted text. He barely had any information to work with, it was so marked up! He needed details to know what experiments to do on who. Other information that isn't very important was marked, too, like their names. Why their real names? Even his file had his name marked out.

_That reminds me. I need to make sure what information on me, that isn’t redacted, is correct._

He measures his own height. One hundred eighty-five centimeters, correct. Weight… _Oh. I know what Demoman was feeling now._ The weight listed on the paper was from his more youthful days. He had become a little squishy in the middle through his lazy years. _Bah, no matter. I am still the best medic around, no matter how pudgy I get. Right, Archimedes?_ He looked up at his bird again. _You are very pudgy yet you are the best little nurse I've ever had._ He thought pleasantly at his feathered companion. 

Archimedes left his eyes on him and became alert. He fluttered down from his perch in the sun and landed on Medic. He cooed at him.

“Yeah, Archimedes. I’m sleepy, too.” 

Archimedes cooed once more. 

“What? No. I do not want to stay in the bunks. They didn’t even properly show me where my bunk _is_. Of course I’ll stay in here with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for any grammar or spelling mistakes in this, I kind of scrambled for these last few days typing like two pages a day and then correcting it down half a page and then filling it back up another page an a half and I just did that to ten pages.


	6. The First Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Medic and Archimedes discuss important matters.   
> Heavy and Sasha spend some time together.  
> The first day is always an adjustment resulting in many mistakes.

Medic sat down at the desk dragged out of the closet space, taking Archimedes with him. The curtains were set up to section off this smaller half of the room from the operating tables. Not exactly a fancy office, but one nonetheless. Archimedes hopped down, exploring the cluttered surface of the desk. Medic still needed to find a place for everything, but he had already spent a lot of time digging it out and setting it up. That combined with looking over his new test subjects, this was the first time in a few hours he was able to sit down. 

He could feel gravity weighing on his head but sleeping now wouldn’t help him adapt to his new sleep schedule. To keep him occupied he decided that he might as well work out how many exotic animal parts he could buy with this new funding. Though it might not be the most exciting activity, it was important. He grabbed a piece of paper and pen from the clutter. “What do you think, Archimedes?” He asked the bird as he padded across the paper to Medic. Archimedes coos and pecks at his hands. “You just want pets, huh?” He reaches out a finger and boops Archimedes. His finger gets playfully pecked in return.

Archimedes settles down in the middle of the paper. “You’re right, I shouldn’t test their patience by spending it all immediately. I’ll give it a week before I do zhat. For now, I’ll only spend half.” He scratches Archimedes’ neck. “I’ll have to choose wisely what animal parts to buy since I’ll only be able to buy a few.” He reluctantly stands back up, having just settled. “I should decide by which ones I’m most likely to use. Time to look over the notes I took.” Archimedes watches him walk back over to the operation side of the room and come back with the mercenary’s folders. Medic sets them on top of Archimedes, who refused to move. The folders slid off him as Archimedes’ head pops back up. He coos, annoyed. Medic was being intentionally annoying as reprisal for Archimedes purposefully sitting himself in the middle of the paper. If he’s going to sit there and get in the way, he’s going to get papers sat on him.

Medic took one of the folders from the collapsed stack. “Hm. Was behind on his shots, the partially feral bushman. What organs could I use for him?” He opens it and looks over the medical records and details. Nothing particularly useful. Though one of his own notes grabbed his attention. He had written that Sniper had particularly bad posture. An idea popped into his head. “Oh! He spends all day in a small van or in the seat of that van, and when he’s out he’s camped in a sniping spot for hours. Most certainly hunched over, causing back issues. Should I order a replacement spine? I haven’t put a spine  _ in _ before. Zhat would be interesting.” He begins doing math in the margins of the folder, determining what specifications of animal spine would best fit Sniper.

Archimedes coos from under the folder.

Medic stops writing, thinking for a moment of what he said. He lowers the folder to look at Archimedes. “Hm. Yes. Might make it worse. Animal spines are not exactly meant to be upright.” Medic kept thinking. “And I did receive two new bodies today, one with a useable spine.” He sighs, disappointed, but mostly tired. He could feel the exhaustion beginning to weigh on him once more. “Spine is off the list, then.” He closes the folder and slides out another from the pile. Soldier’s. “Maybe something with brains? He needs some.” Medic puts an elbow on the table beside Archimedes, leaning his face against his fist. “Ah, but I didn’t think to get measurements of their skulls.” He closes the file and drops it, frustrated with himself. He should’ve thought about that, checkup was the perfect time! He’ll have to get measurements another time, now. At least other organs didn’t need exact measurements. He mentally noted the sizes that would fit in each of them by just eye-balling the dimensions of their torso.

Archimedes coos as he hops into the bend of Medic’s elbow, seeing his frustration. Medic takes in a disappointed breath. “I suppose it is my first day.” He says in an exhale as he pats his bird. Archimedes was always the good thing in a bad situation. Archimedes snuggles in and gets comfortable. Medic reaches with his bird-free arm and grabs another folder. The heavy weapons guy. Possibly the healthiest of the team aside from Engineer. .. _.If you would call being mad enough to cut off your own hand to replace it with robotics ‘healthy,’ no matter how fascinating. _ Heavy was also a giant of a man. A hulking mass of muscle, perfect for any particularly tough tests that a thinner patient’s body may be too weak to handle. Medic doesn’t want to experience a spontaneously combusting body on his table painting his lab in a fine red mist…  _ again _ . He also could fit lots of organs in Heavy and he would never be the wiser, while it may make others appear lumpy.

Archimedes’ feathers smooth down, extending his neck and cooing. 

“You have an idea?”

He tilts his head and coos at the headshot photo of Heavy clipped to the document.

“Aw, Archimedes, don’t be afraid. He only looks scary.” Medic tried to console Archimedes. “Did you see how I handled him? I forgot to warn him before I shoved my hands in his mouth.” He chuckles lightly. “And all he did was basically call me rude. If he was as dangerous as he looked, he would’ve pummeled me.” Medic explains to him. 

Medic really was not afraid of his massive coworker doing any harm to him but he wasn’t about to underestimate him or abuse his patience, either. Heavy certainly was very capable of doing harm. But Medic’s lack of fear was reassured with Heavy’s goofy smile when holding his gun, then later Medic saw the disturbed, befuddled look on Heavy’s face when he came into the lab earlier that day. Medic thinks it might have frightened Heavy.  _ Indeed, my skills at dissection are scary good. _

Archimedes settled down again but was still rather nervous about the scary man. He didn’t like his tone of voice he’s heard from Heavy so far and the serious brooding look on his face made him uneasy. The smile with the gun this morning looked maniacal to him. The other times, he did not express what he was thinking and Archimedes did not like being unable to read him. That, and Heavy is bigger than even the meanest of humans Archimedes has encountered. Even one normal-sized mean human could kill a bird like him easily, let alone what that hulking thing could do to him. He could probably kill Medic as easy as normal humans could kill his brethren birds! Archimedes usually didn’t worry about his reckless owner this bad because he had seen first-wing that Medic could manage on his own… But an opponent like Heavy left little room for improvisation. However, right now he doesn’t have to worry about that. The big scary guy isn’t here and Medic doesn’t seem at all concerned for his safety. Sitting snug in the warm bend of his human’s arm helped relax his worries further.

Medic continued thinking of ideas but the process was beginning to feel cumbersome, sleep nagging at his brain at every corner. Archimedes looking on the cusp of sleep in blissful comfort did not help Medic’s own tiredness. Watching Archimedes slowly settling his weight down and his feathers spread out like he’s melting was always mollifying. It was even more effective when Archimedes sat on him, feeling the bird sinking down, being reclaimed by gravity, he could feel himself doing the same.  _ A little melty marshmallow bird. _

“I guess I’ll just order a few hearts. Can’t go wrong with hearts.” Medic said, it felt like too much of a chore to do much other thinking. He yawns. Archimedes lets out soft coos, still being a sleepy little marshmallow.

The weight of tiredness was beginning to overcome him, his mind dragging behind him. He felt too lazy to even keep holding up the folder. He gives in, knowing that there is no escaping being this tired.  _ I can either suffer through or lay my head down for a bit. I don’t necessarily have to sleep, just rest. That’s all I need. _ He convinced himself.

“I’m just going to lay my head down and rest my eyes.” He told Archimedes. “...While still remaining completely cognitively functioning. To think of what else I might need…” He sets the folder down. “Just doing so while resting.” Then lets his head slide free from his fist, down his arm, and coming to a rest on the desk. He kept his arm bent for Archimedes to snuggle in. “I just need a moment.” He said, his voice muffled against the desk. Archimedes knew that despite what he said, his human would fall asleep. With his own tiredness, he made more soft coos against the side of Medic’s head, snuggling in for an oncoming well-deserved sleep. Archimedes leaned into Medic’s warmth, nuzzling against his favorite human. Medic returns the favor, twitching his arm to give Archimedes a little squeeze. Rubbing his face against Medic was the best thing he had in place of a hug. Archimedes felt soft and warm against Medic’s face, the tiny nuzzles melted the burdens of the day. Medic could feel his consciousness slipping. Archimedes’ cuddles and sleepy coos right next to his ear lulled him to sleep whether he wanted to or not.

Upon returning to the lounge where he had left Sasha, Heavy found that almost everyone had left. Where they hid at, he didn’t know or care to find out. Not like he could, this base was like a maze. One corridor would lead to a loading bay lined with doors everywhere, some of those doors would loop back to the main corridor and fork off to other doors. Some of them lead to stairs up to an even more tedious path, paths which lead to even more stairs that take you back to the same corridor. He supposed that it is purposefully complicated so the enemy mercenaries can’t easily navigate their way around to the intel. Though, that also begs the question as to why there are signs pointing to where all that was if it was supposed to be complicated to find. 

“Hey, this all the food they gave us?” Scout asked the room, digging through a rations box. No one answered, being clueless themselves.

“I think so.” Demo answered after finishing his drink. Heavy was thankful Demo said something so Scout wouldn’t try to interact with him.

“This sucks. It’s all that vacuum-sealed doomsday crap.”

“It’s crap and you’ll eat it or starve!” Soldier ordered with a full mouth. He was shoveling a can of chili into his face.

“Thanks. I’ll starve.” Scout rises from the box.

“Starving is an un-American way to die! If you must die from food, it will be  _ too much!” _

“Not like I haven’t gone hungry a night before.”

“Dying before the first battle is unacceptable! You will eat your crap and you will like it!”

They begin bickering back and forth, rehearsing the same points. Demo watched amusingly but Heavy found it incredibly annoying. He didn’t have the nerve left to deal with anyone else that day. If he had to put up with one more, he was going to take Sasha for a ‘test run.’ Though, he did wonder what food there was. He took a look in the box while the others were distracted. There was a pack of bottled water, multiple cans of cheap chili, and MRE packages. Scout was right. Heavy decided to just suck on the lollipop he had received. At least it tastes like eating. Unlike that ‘food’ would.

Scout was soon walking out of the room. The unstoppable force that was Scout could not defeat the immovable object that was Soldier.  _ I guess if you fight stupid with stupid, the stupid with more stubbornness wins. _ Heavy thought with relief as the chatterbox retreated to the depths of the base. The others were less of a chore to deal with if interaction was inevitable. Heavy continued this thought as he carried the minigun to the table. He opened the canister, observing how he would load the bullets. It looks like it takes the belt of bullets directly, no loading them individually or in a holster. He slips the bullet belt over his head then sits and stares at the loading mechanism, bullets in hand. He didn’t know how to proceed from here. The belt didn’t separate at any moment for him to feed it through then connect it again, he would have to fold the belt and cram two layers into the barrel at once.  _ That had to be wrong. I must find a different way. _ He did not want to check the manual, he was the heavy weapons guy. If he didn’t know how to work his heavy weapons what does that say about him? Most likely that he’s a bad heavy weapons guy. Some of the reason was that he had just sat down.  _ Besides, I learn best by doing and figuring it out myself.  _

He sat for a moment longer, thinking. When _ did _ he have to learn his way around this weapon by? He took a moment to mentally prepare himself to interact with the two people in the room and any resulting interactions from that.

“...When is first battle?” He finally asked.

Demoman drunkenly picked his head up and swung it towards Heavy. “Eh?”

“The first battle.”

‘Uhhhh… Uh dunnuh.” He responded, his neck shortly turning to rubber again. 

“I thought that was classified information.” Soldier chimed in. “Or I just forgot to ask. One of those.” He continued shoveling the sub-par food in his face.

Heavy accepted that no one else knew either. He went on with his plan, not knowing how soon he would need to learn his gun. He proceeded cramming the belt into the slot and hoping it would catch on the mechanism. With much struggle. His hands were not the daintiest of things to work in small spaces with. He rotated the barrel when he thought that the bullets were in enough for the gun to get a hold. The gun clicks and he feels the belt tug.  _ There. I think I got it. _ He rotated the barrel again for extra measure. 

He actually had not held too many rapid-fire heavy weapons before now. Not extensively, anyway. Just taking them from and then used them against enemies. Most often those guns were already loaded and the enemies were dead before they needed a reload. Now, instead of his fists or a regular gun, this bullet-hungry beast was his main tool of destruction. And he loved it. The big powerful guns, even if he fired them for a few seconds, were always his favorites. He loved feeling the power they radiated when firing. Guns like that take all of the energy and power he feels within himself and blasts it out two-hundred rounds per minute. These guns match his strength as closely as his very fists could. This feeling convinced him this is his calling. To be the Heavy weapons guy. And Sasha is his weapon. Now, time to take her for a test round. 

_ Let’s see if I did this right.  _ Heavy closes the hatch with the bullet belt not-so neatly sitting inside. It felt amateurish closing it with it sitting so disorderly, but he didn’t see any other way to do it. He picked up Sasha and walked out to the back. Demo did not take notice because he was out of it and Soldier had already grabbed another can and left for his bunk. 

Upon sliding the metal door up he was met with a blinding light. He winced, stepping out and giving his eyes a moment to adjust. The sun was setting, casting orange rays over the desert rocks and highlighting the tops of the buildings. The windows on the building shone in the corner of his eye as he walked further out. It was at the perfect height to catch the orange blaze of the sunset. Once away from the perfectly blinding angle, he could see the white birds in the lab sitting along the window enjoying the sunshine that previously stung his eyes.

Everything was such an abundance of warm colors that Heavy was so unaccustomed to. It struck him in awe for a second. Even the shadows were warm, with shades of maroon hiding in them. The vibrantly orange sun just over the horizon tinted the sky around it a pale orange that bled into a vast yellow in which the few wispy clouds reflected like polished gold. The band of dusty yellow slowly transitioned into a lilac overhead, then to a lavender, and to a deeper and deeper violet along the eastern horizon. The badlands may be hot and annoying, but it was also brilliant. Heavy couldn’t deny this evidence. 

He shook himself out of his awe and braced to fire Sasha, aiming at a hay bale. The minigun clicked and began to whirr. It was cut short with wild clatter. The gun's rhythmic clicks frenzied. Heavy stopped firing it immediately, afraid he had broken this favorite weapon already. 

He dashed back inside faster than he had ran in a while, even with the considerable weight of Sasha in his hands. Though, he slowed down when he entered the main hallway. For surely the ruckus would draw the other’s attention. And they were  _ armed _ now. The Scout would definitely be trigger happy with his new ‘Force A Nature’ he called it. 

Heavy sets the minigun down and opens the canister. Loose bullets rolled out across the table. Inside, the cloth of the belt was partially shredded.  _ Oh, this is bad. _ He pulls on the belt and the barrel of the gun ticked as it got stuck in place. It couldn’t rotate backward anyhow, but now it gets hung trying to rotate forward. The threads were now caught even firmer in the rotating parts. Heavy facepalmed at his own ignorance, he should’ve known better. The excitement of firing a new powerful weapon and frustration at the time he had spent trying to load it had driven him to rush. He huffs out a sigh.  _ I should’ve just read the paper. Now I’m left with a problem I have no booklet for.  _ He thought begrudgingly to himself before settling in, knowing fixing this would take a long while.

It has been hours. And all he’s accomplished is finding the other end of the bullet belt and a few strings are loosened up. The other end of the belt he refused to just rip out, in case the threads left behind would be too short to take out. Any choice he made could result in more damage and become even more tedious to fix, so he has taken his time to be as careful and least damaging as possible. He has been doing his best to dig strings out of the gun’s inner workings with his cumbersome hands but has only actually pulled out a few. The rest still snag on something that tugs at the barrel’s spinning mechanic.

Heavy leans back for the first time in hours, and only then does he realize what a tole the hours of focus have taken on him. He stretches out the ache of sitting still, being almost fed up with trying to get these strings out of the gun.  _ Should I just get Engineer? _ He asks himself.  _ No. He is working. I can do this. _ He reassured himself for the hundredth time. But first, he was going to find a better place to sit and work. A place that wasn’t a metal fold-out chair. Somewhere with soft seating and his own space away from people. Like his bunk, which was more of his own room now since the defense class doesn’t sleep in there. Demo sleeps wherever he falls and Engineer has stayed in his workshop every night, he didn’t even move anything into the room. Thinking about it, Sniper doesn’t stay in his room either since he has the van, and Spy does not seem the type to share a space with dirty strangers. Even if they’re clean. Medic would be left a room to himself as well, and poor unlucky Scout has to stay with Solider and Pyro. Heavy enjoys the karma of that situation, but realizes it’s more like poor Pyro has to reside with two loud idiots. 

Heavy looks over at Demo snoring away, collapsed into his chair in a painful looking position. The comfort of a bad mattress rather than these sad chairs was luring him. He grabs hold of the minigun, hoisting it up while taking a stand. A sight tug was felt, a tear sounded, and bullets rattled to the ground in a deafening ring of realization. The belt fell to the ground with a heavy thud, the snaking line of bullets in cloth lead under his foot. He stood there, wide-eyed in silence. 

The loose, two hundred dollar, custom tool cartridge bullets rattled across the floor. His shoulders dropped as he accepted defeat and let the dread seep in. He sets Sasha to the side and reluctantly gathers up the bullets. There were more bullet belts and more bullets, but only one Sasha. And he had made two stupid mistakes in the span of hours with her. He didn’t even want to look at what tiny strings were left jammed in the gears. Tiny strings too tiny for his big hands to remove. _ It is best if I don’t keep trying to fix it for tonight before I end up making it worse. _ He mentally reprimanded himself for being so careless. He closed the gun’s canister and lifter her once again. Heavy flicked off the lights on the way out and took her to the battlements room where she could rest. She is set gently on top of the crate of bullets, the bullet belt and loose bullets set beside her. If he took the minigun with him to his room as planned, the thought of trying to fix it would nag at him until he did. He couldn’t risk it, the minigun had to be away from him. Maybe some sleep would clear his mind and he could fix this problem without making another foolish mistake.

Medic awoke with a chill. He blinked at the darkness surrounding him. The room was pitch dark now, the only light source being beyond the lab doors and the dull stars through the window. He felt Archimedes shift as he sat up, his movement waking the bird. The nip in the air robbed him of what warmth that was hidden under him while he was laying. Archimedes felt it too, no longer being cuddled against Medic’s face. The bird protested loudly against the cold stealing his cozy warmth. 

_ I thought the desert was supposed to be hot? _ Medic stood up and set Archimedes on his shoulder, stretching and popping out the ache in his back from laying like he was. That barely helped, but Archimedes cuddling into his neck for warmth helped distract him. 

Medic made his way through the dark, carefully trying to remember where everything was scattered. There was only the light coming in through the windows on the doors to guide him. It didn’t help, he kicked something at almost every step. Medic growled at the metal clattering sounds every time he kicked something new. Feeling defeated, he decided to slowly scoot his foot along the ground to get a feel. He moved it around things it bumped into so he would uncover a clear, wide step through this dark maze. 

He settled his foot and shifted his weight to take the step, only to be met with a metal table to the hip. The table clattered across the tiles. He winced, the sound echoing around the small room. He heard the frightened fluttering of his birds across the lab. “Oops!” He called to them. “It’s okay, it’s just me!” 

Archimedes also called out a calm coo to let the other birds know there wasn’t a panic. A few other birds echoed a coo back. Medic finally made it to the door and flipped the light switch beside it. The wiring sparked once again and the operating lights blinked on. He crossed his arms, goosebumps shivering over him. The room being partially underground made it cool before, but now it was nearly freezing. The blueish lights of the operation lamps didn’t help the room feel any warmer, but they did reveal a radiator along the wall that Medic had glanced over earlier. Being able to see where he’s walking now, he stepped over to it. His birds called at him from the darkness above. 

“I know, I know. It’s cold and I scared you. Shush.” He told his birds as he turned the valve to the radiator and it began hissing. “It will warm up in a bit.”

He reached for his lab coat flung on the counter. He was stopped in his tracks when he spotted birds huddled together for warmth on it. They had sat up in alert towards him. Medic pulled his hand back carefully, the birds settling back down as his hand retreated. Most of his other birds were not as sociable as Archimedes, some even skittish of him, but he treats them with the same care. He stepped away from them and went about his business. The birds could have it, he was big enough to cope with this drop in temperature where small things like them might not. Taking it from them would make him a monster on a whole new level. Plus, the blood coating one side of it from lugging that corpse would be crunchy and uncomfortable by now. 

_ Oh! _ He turned to the trashbag lumped in the corner.  _ Speaking of corpses! Before the room heats up I need to store them properly until I receive more jars. _ He remembered his other first-day mishap. He had disregarded the lingering feeling of forgetting something. Even as he pulled out organs and had to think of where to place them, he just grabbed a bucket and merrily dug out the next, all the while ignoring his subconscious in lieu of what was in front of him. He couldn’t wait to freely pluck organs from people again, so he  _ hadn’t _ waited. He shook his head. _ Ah, well, I would need to store the rest of the body in a freezer anyway. _ A memory of the fridge in the lounge popped into his mind. 

Not knowing of any other ideal place, he tugged at the large plastic bag and began making his way to the door.  _ Good. No blood trail yet, the bag hasn’t torn _ . The combined weight of the bodies within the bag prevented him from lifting them, so dragging them to the fridge would have to do.

Heavy had been trying to sleep for a while now. Tossing and turning, rolling and counting sheep, all but sleep. All that was on his mind was Sasha and what he did to his precious new gun. Although he had left her in the battlements room so he wouldn’t be reminded, his conscience still lingered with the thought. It made no difference whether the gun was in there with him or in the battlements room, the guilt remained. Perhaps the distance tugged at his mind more-so. He sat up, knowing these troubling thoughts would not let him rest any time soon. If he wasn’t going to sleep anyway, he might as well work on the gun. Laying there accomplishes nothing. Heavy stood and left the room to retrieve Sasha.

The trash bag fell with a thud as Medic released his grip to grab the fridge door. Unfortunately, it was already full of beer. Medic grumbled, grabbing a hand full at a time and putting them to the side. Keeping these bodies fresh was more important than cold beer.  _ Odd that there wasn’t any food in here, I would’ve taken it _ . The empty fridge reminded him of his empty stomach, but he brushed it off. Once the beer was out he slid out the dividers, too. Inspecting the space of the fridge and size of the bag, it seemed they would fit if he arranged them just right. It was a relatively small fridge, but he could do it, he was sure of it. It was not the first time he’s crammed a body into a small box. 

Holding the door open with his back, he pulled the bag to the opening and managed to lift the weight of the bag enough that he could shove it partially in with his leg. A lump that was probably a skull blocked it going any further. He lifted it again with much strain, grunting at the precarious hold he had to do to lift and rotate it around while not pulling it back out. He dropped it back into the fridge at the new angle, once again using his knee and foot to hold the bag in there. The bodies refused to cram any further. Getting a little irked by the bag’s defiance, he tried to manually reposition the various lumps in the bag.  _ Maybe I should’ve removed the bones _ . He thinks to himself while feeling around, thinking he found how one body is positioned inside the bag. While blindly shifting the limbs around to fit he was also shoving, waiting for it to pop into place. _ Ah-hah! _ The top of the bag slid in. Medic felt triumphant even though the middle still pooched out. He awkwardly shifted his weight to hold the bag up with his side, maneuvering himself into a crouching position. 

_ Now how would I- _ He thought briefly before seeing a leg hanging out the bottom of the bag. He stared, unamused, for a short moment.  _ Cheap garbage bags. _ He grabs the leg and tries to shuffle it back into the bag. There was something blocking it from sitting back in. The other way it would fit required him to rip the bag further, which he was not about to do. He reached a hand into the bag, feeling for whatever was blocking the leg from fitting back in there. _ The  _ **_whole_ ** _ abdomen? _ He felt around, finding that it was folded over. _ Yes, the whole abdomen.  _ He repositioned himself, preparing to lift the upper body so he can move the bottom one’s abdomen and fit the leg in, and then hopefully the whole thing would fall into place. Like human Tetris. _ I really should have removed the bones. _ He thought with regret, struggling with both of his arms shoulder-deep into the trashbag of human corpses, stuffed within a refrigerator. 

Heavy walked through the dark halls of the base. He was the only one that turned off any lights that he could find the switch for. It was a force of habit that left him wondering why the others didn’t have it. Have they not lived on a generator or battery at some point? He knows Sniper has for sure, living in a car. Heavy’s thoughts were interrupted as he rounded the corner and was met with a ray of light shining from the lounge. A shadow shifted in the ray, accompanied by shuffling plastic and the familiar sound of the fridge rattling with movement.  _ Maybe Demo had woken up and went for another drink _ . Heavy saw this as what it was and was going to pass by without a word until he approached closer. Within the shifting light of the fridge he saw a thin trail of something dark red tracing into the room.  _ More blood?? _ He followed the trail through the light, peeking in the doorway. The light of the fridge only left a silhouette of the person, but Heavy could tell that it was the doctor.  _ Of course it’s the doctor _ . He was crouched and shoving a full garbage bag into the fridge, from what Heavy could see. And he had set the beers out to make way for it.  _ Why put garbage in fridge?  _

Medic grumbled something unintelligible, kicking at the bag while his hands held up the top, balancing on one foot to do so. Impressive, whatever he was doing. Heavy recognized that he could not balance like that.

“Get-” Medic dropped one of his arms to use his shoulder to push. “in-” He gave the bag another good shove. “zhere!-” His feet slid on the floor as he pushed on the bag with all his might. The fridge rocked back, then swayed forward when Medic withdrew the force, looking worn. The top of the bag fell forward and landed on Medic’s head, he pushed it back up in exasperation with his shoving arm, switching the other to hold the bottom half. His face now shown in the light of the fridge. In his strife, his glasses briefly reflecting a flash into Heavy’s eyes. He winced away, lifting a hand over his face. Apparently he had shifted his weight enough so that the boards under him creaked. Medic stopped struggling with the bag and looked up towards the source in surprise. Heavy stared back, standing in the doorway.

The awkward silence was deafening. What were either of them doing up lurking around the base this late at night? Neither would prefer not to be asked, so they did not ask the other. Consequently, they quietly stared back at each other like a deer caught in the headlights. 

There was a break in the silence. Something in the bag gave and shifted, a limp hand slid out of a tear and slapped Medic across face. The limp slap echoed and the clattering of his glasses onto the floor felt earsplittingly loud over the low hum of the refrigerator. Medic looked at the blur of the dangling hand and back over to the blur of Heavy. 

_ Ah. The bodies. _ Heavy remembered.

“I never saw you if you never saw me.” Medic conferred from the silence

Heavy liked this deal. There were no questions asked. He nodded.

Medic picked up his glasses and fixed his hair after they were settled on his face. He looked back up at Heavy, thinking he was taking a moment to consider the offer.

Why was the doctor still looking at him? Hadn’t he seen- Heavy realized that Medic couldn’t see him nod without his glasses.

“...Yes.” Heavy finally responded, feeling slightly embarrassed about the late reply. 

Medic smiled at this agreement and went back to stuffing the bodies into the fridge. 

Heavy continued his on his walk to the battlements room, but not before casting a habitual “Goodnight.” to Medic as he walked past.

“Goodnight.” Heavy heard the word called back to him as he walked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one didn't have too much to it. It reached a solid 9 pages so I decided to cut the rest for the next chapter.   
> For some reason this one I really struggled with to type out so it took a while. <\-- (See the wording in that sentence? The whole thing was like that. I don't know why my brain was/is stuck in that kind of way currently but it makes it really difficult to explain properly/correct.)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This is fun but challenging to work on and your support keeps me inspired and happy.  
> Updates are not on a regular schedule but should be once every two weeks!  
> If it happens to be taking longer or you're just curious on the progress, check out my Tumblr, [hyperfixonthis.](https://hyperfixonthis.tumblr.com/post) In the meantime I also just repost a ton of tf2 stuff (mainly heavymedic.)  
> You are free to share links to this fic anywhere!


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